And Again
by Bad Faery
Summary: Belle's looking for a fresh start. Instead she finds Middlesbrough. Crossover with The Tournament, starring Robert Carlyle.
1. Prologue

Belle was not a coward.

She'd faced ogres and evil queens and the Dark One. She'd traveled through the void of space in a rusted hulk of an ancient vessel. She'd loved and lost and loved and lost again. Belle was not a coward. Belle was _tired_. And Belle was running away.

Once she'd wanted to see the world, and so she saw it. She traveled to Africa and Asia and saw things the princess she once was never could have dreamed about. Australia almost felt like home, but hearing the familiar accent made her ache for her father, and so she kept traveling.

Eventually some place would feel right to her. Somehow she would know that she was in a place where she could blend in and fade away, her story forgotten.

Belle liked England. The trees reminded her of the Enchanted Forest, but they were different enough not to hurt. She thought she was getting closer to finding her place.

She'd been in Middlesbrough for six hours, and while it didn't feel right, it also didn't feel _wrong_, and she decided to explore. The used bookstore she found was a point in its favor, and she liked how organized the town was. The cameras made her shiver; she'd been watched for too many years, but at least this time she couldn't imagine anyone looking at a nobody like her.

Still she felt them aimed at her back as she walked, and soon enough she was dying for a drink. Rumpelstiltskin taught her to appreciate wine, and she and Nick had been limited to whatever Brody could conjure up, but left to her own devices Belle was fond of a gin and tonic.

It was with this thought in mind that she walked into the nearest pub and very nearly turned around and walked right back out again. The man- the _priest_- wasn't looking at her, but he didn't need to. She knew that profile better than she knew her own name, and how many men in the universe shared that face? Morbidly, she wondered if she was destined to meet and lose them all.

She took a seat halfway down the bar, noting the empty shot glasses piled in front of him. He was unsteady on his stool, and she vowed not to approach him even if he fell to the floor. She could not do this. Not _again_.

He was looking at her, glancing from her to the glasses in front of him and back again, not quite daring to stare. Another coward then, she thought, and her heart clenched at the memory of her first love. She looked over at him, accidentally making eye contact, and she'd never seen such a hangdog expression on that face before.

He sat up straighter and tried to look pulled together, but she could see his hands shaking from where she was. His hair needed washed, and the aura of helplessness that surrounded him was palpable.

He was damaged, and she could not put another brown-eyed man back together. She _wouldn't_. She'd lost too much already. She looked away from him and back to her drink, and his shoulders slumped, his posture almost cartoonishly dejected. Cursing herself as she did it, Belle looked at him again and offered a small smile.

She thought he was trying to smile back, but he looked too shocked to manage it. Mostly what she was aware of was the hope- the desperate, all-consuming hope suddenly burning in his eyes- and she knew herself to be a fool. If she wasn't going to do this, she would have turned on her heel and left the pub. From the moment she stepped inside this was inevitable.

She drained her drink for courage and moved to take the stool next to him. He eagerly signaled the bartender to get her another drink then locked his fingers together so she wouldn't see them shaking.

The beginnings of other conversations floated through her mind. _Why do you spin so much? Why do you work so much? _ She accepted the drink and ignored the look of disgust the bartender shot her companion. Taking a sip, she turned her body to face him.

"Why do you drink so much?"


	2. Chapter 1

It was a question she could have led up to a bit more, Belle reflected wryly as the priest gaped at her. It wasn't his fault that she felt like she knew him already, had already assigned him the role of someone who needed her to protect and care for him. He didn't know her face the way she knew his. "I'm sorry; that was rude of me. Hi, I'm Belle."

She extended her hand, and he stared at it a moment like he wasn't sure what to do before taking it in his. His grip was the slightest bit too tight, his palms clammy. "MacAvoy," he blurted just half a beat too late to sound natural, "Father Joseph MacAvoy."

His accent was different, still Scottish but with the edges sanded off due to time in England. He'd been here awhile, and she wondered how long. Nick had held onto his brogue despite years in the States and then in space, and in Storybrooke Rumpelstiltskin had always sounded Scottish despite never having set foot there. "It's nice to meet you, Father." He was still holding onto her hand, and she pulled it gently out of his grip.

"Nice to meet you too, Belle." He drew her name out slightly, prompting for a last name, and she ignored the hint. Surnames had taken some getting used to in this world without magic, and she'd never felt like Belle French. Belle Gold was more accurate. That was the name that was on all her identification, but it didn't feel right to her either. To be Belle Gold was to deny Nick and everything they'd been to each other, but despite all their plans they'd never quite managed to make her Belle Rush.

Her fingers strayed to the necklace she wore beneath her shirt and touched the chain through the fabric. She would be just Belle to him, and he might be drunk enough not to realize that it was odd. "You live here then? In Middlesbrough?" she asked, aiming for a safe topic of conversation.

He nodded then winced like the movement had hurt. "Yes. Yes, my church is very near here. Perhaps you've seen it?" He sounded so hopeful that she wished she could say that she had.

"I'm sorry. I've only been here a few hours. I haven't looked around much." Maybe she could get him to show it to her. It would do him good to get away from the alcohol. She took a long swallow of her drink, mentally flaying herself. She'd known the man for five minutes, and she was already wondering how she could save him. This was none of her business. He was not her responsibility. He just looked so _lost_.

If he was, it wasn't her job to save him, Belle told herself firmly. Rumpelstiltskin and Nick hadn't had anyone but her, but this man could have friends and family to watch out for him. If he did, they weren't doing a very good job.

"You're Australian," he observed, and she smiled wryly to herself. She was no more Australian than Rumpelstiltskin had been Scottish, but she wasn't about to attempt to explain her Marchlands accent. She'd spent quite enough time in asylums.

"Melbourne," she agreed, drawing on the curse-provided memories of sun and glorious vistas.

He nodded wisely then shook his head. "Never been," he admitted with an abashed smile like he was confessing a sin. "How did you find Middlesbrough?"

"Turned right at York," she said, giggling when he blinked at her uncomprehendingly, "That was a quip."

He stared at her for a moment longer then chuckled, looking surprised at the sound. "I meant... it's not exactly a tourist destination."

"Let's say I'm having an adventure." The words stuck in her throat and she washed them down with another swallow of her drink. Adventure implied an enthusiasm she didn't have anymore. She wasn't a princess on a quest. She was a wounded animal seeking a den. "It might be more fair to say that I'm lost."

Her companion made a harsh noise in his throat, downed his shot, and gestured for another. "I know the feeling."

She put her hand on his wrist, feeling him tremble. "If you want to talk, I'm happy to listen."

He looked down at her hand on his wrist, her skin pale against the dark fabric, then raised his eyes to her face, and the absolute confusion in his expression took her aback. "Why are you talking to me?" he demanded.

It wasn't mistrust she was hearing in his voice, Belle realized. It was disbelief. Sheer disbelief that anyone would show an interest in him, and her heart melted and sank at the same time. This wasn't a man with family and friends. This was a man who had no one. No one but her. "You looked like you needed a friend."

The only thing she could hear was his ragged breathing, the sounds of the other patrons drowned out by the sheer desperation she could feel in him. "Was I wrong?"

Although he pressed his lips tightly together, she could still see the tears in his eyes as he shook his head. "No. You weren't."

With gentle hands she pushed his hair out of his face. "Tell me why you're drinking."

He nodded jerkily, clinging to the wooden bar like it was a lifeline. "I always knew I was supposed to be a priest. I always knew I was called. Some... some men fight it, but I didn't. I wanted it. I wanted to help people. It was all I wanted." He paused to down his shot, and Belle scooted a little closer.

If she'd needed proof that Father MacAvoy was his own person, not a copy of either of her lost loves, she had it now. The thought of either Rumpelstiltskin or Nick saying that all they wanted was to help others was laughable as was the thought of either of them answering her so readily. Both of them had made her work months before they'd opened up. In contrast, Joseph was an open book. "I understand."

"I knew I'd be good at it. I _knew_ I could show people how to let God into their lives. I _knew_ I could help." The look in his eyes was bleak as he continued. "I'm not helping anybody."

He reached for his glass, realized it was empty and fluttered his hand nervously until Belle took it, holding it in both of hers. Clutching at her, he continued, "No one listens, and there's so much darkness, so much evil, and I'm supposed to hold it off, but I'm only _one_ man. I'm not even a good man, not a strong man. I'm just... nothing."

With his free hand, he scrubbed at his face. "I don't even know if I _believe_ anymore. Why would a loving God let all these horrible things happen? Why would He call me only to let me be a failure? Maybe I wasn't called at all. Maybe there is a God, but Satan's stronger. Or maybe... maybe he's just stronger than me."

This wasn't a conversation Belle felt qualified to have. While she had a basic grasp of the religions of this world, she felt no particular attachment to any of them and had a healthy distrust of the clerics of her own. If there were answers to Joseph's questions, she didn't know what they were. It wasn't an answer he needed though; what he needed was someone to listen. If Belle had learned anything from her past, it was how to spot a desperate soul and how to recognize when someone was reaching out.

She let go of his hand and he flinched, curling in on himself. Before she could give herself a chance to reconsider, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and just hugged him.

For an instant he froze, then he all but collapsed against her, burying his face against her throat as he clung to her like he was drowning. "I'm here. I've got you. It's going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay." The words were meaningless, but he sobbed as she whispered to him. "I've got you. I've got you. I won't let you go."

He was shaking in her arms, and Belle wondered how long it had been since anyone had held him like this. This broken man needed her, perhaps more than anyone else ever had, and she couldn't turn her back on him. 'Always the hero,' she heard Rumpelstiltskin say in her head with affectionate mockery, and she agreed with him.

They were attracting attention, but Belle couldn't bring herself to care. She pressed a kiss to his dirty hair and let him cry himself out. "Come on," she nudged him gently once he calmed, "Let's get some fresh air."

He insisted on paying for her drinks as well as his own, trying and failing not to look relieved when his credit card was accepted. As they waited to pay the tab, he kept stealing looks at her as though he was afraid she'd vanish.

Once out on the street, he made sure she was walking on the inside of the sidewalk, keeping himself between her and the traffic. The early spring night was just this side of too cool for comfort, and she took his arm as much for warmth as to offer him support. "Would you like to see my church?" he asked hopefully.

"I'd love to," she agreed. Although he greeted a few people as they walked, no one stopped to chat which Belle filed away to reflect on later. Several people did look her over, their expressions more puzzled than suspicious.

As he'd said, it wasn't a long walk, and soon enough he was escorting her into a small church. Even with the lights on it seemed dark, but she could feel the tension in his body ease as soon as they walked in, and she upgraded her initial impression from 'dreary' to 'soothing.' He crossed himself automatically, a gesture she didn't attempt to imitate, showing her around with pride. "It's lovely," she lied kindly, and he looked delighted.

He lit up as he told her the story behind each leaded glass window, looking more alive than she'd seen him yet. He was still the worse for drink, still unsteady, but Belle thought she could see a glimpse of the man inside the drunkard as he talked.

She was horrified when she yawned, trying to hide it behind her hand. Father MacAvoy stopped talking at once, looking guilty. "I'm sorry!" she apologized quickly, "You're not boring me. It's just been a long day."

He nodded, but the happiness had fled his expression. "It's late," he agreed, clenching his jaw as he attempted to smile. "I'll walk you to your hotel, if... if you tell me where you're staying?"

Since she hadn't been certain she planned to stay in Middlesbrough for more than an afternoon, Belle didn't have a hotel, and his eyes widened when she told him as much. "You don't have somewhere to stay?" He was breathing fast as he waved his hand at something off to the side, "The rectory is right there. I... I have a guest room."

He was all but shaking with excitement, and if he wasn't a priest, Belle would have had serious concerns about his intentions. However, Joseph _was_ a priest and was quite possibly the least-threatening person she'd ever met. She couldn't think of a reason to disagree. "All right. I'll need to move my car and get my things."

"I'll come with you," he volunteered immediately, waving off her assurance that she could find her way. He was so determined to come with her that Belle wondered if he was afraid she wouldn't come back.

It didn't take long to retrieve her little Peugeot, and in less than fifteen minutes they were parked in front of the rectory, Father MacAvoy insisting on carrying her bag for her. He unlocked the door and stepped inside to turn the lights on before ducking back out to hold the door for her, and his clumsy chivalry brought a smile to her face.

She was through the foyer in two steps, finding herself in a small parlor that looked like it had been hit by a tornado. The Dark Castle had been cluttered and dusty, but there had still been a sense of order. The rectory, on the other hand, was what happened when a man lived alone for years without so much as a visitor. It was a disaster, and Belle was oddly glad for it. She would be little help in theological discussions, but _this_ she knew how to deal with.

"I'm sorry." Joseph was looking at her like he was expecting her to hit him. "I didn't mean... If you want to go somewhere else, I'll understand."

"It's fine, Father," she assured him, patting his arm. "You weren't expecting company."

The tour didn't take long. On the ground floor was a kitchen with a small table, his office, and a half bath, all of which were as in need of attention as the parlor. Upstairs was his bedroom which he didn't offer to show her, the full bath, and the guest room. Out of everything the guest room was the neatest, but it was obvious its purpose was storage, not sheltering visitors. "The sheets are clean," he promised her as he deposited her bag on the bed.

"It's _fine_," she said again, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He blushed like a schoolboy at the affectionate gesture, not moving until she stepped back herself. "If... if you need anything, I'm..." He flapped his hand in the general direction of his bedroom.

Belle resisted the urge to hug him again. He was already jumpy, but she couldn't think of anyone else she'd ever known who needed it more. "I'll let you know," she promised, "Thank you for putting me up."

He gazed at her in disbelief. "Thank _you_ for..." he trailed off, clearing his throat. "I'll just... I'll let you... Good night, Belle."

"Good night, Father." He stared at her a moment longer, then backed out of the room, stumbling a little over his own feet as he disappeared down the hall. She gave him a moment then pulled the door closed, seeing no point in locking it. She was more likely to be abducted by aliens than to be assaulted by that man.

Sitting down on the bed next to her bag, she bounced a little, testing the mattress. The house might be a mess, but at least the bed was comfortable. She deposited her bag on the floor after retrieving her pajamas and got herself changed, delaying her trip to the bathroom to wash her face as she gazed blindly at the room.

"He might look like you, Nick, but he's _nothing_ like you," she whispered. Pulling her necklace free of her pajama top, she tightened her fingers around the rings that graced the chain. "You'd scare him to death."

She smiled a little as she thought about how Rush would react to the idea of a lookalike priest. "You'd enjoy it too, don't even pretend you wouldn't." Feeling suddenly exhausted, Belle gave up on the idea of washing her face. It would keep until tomorrow. She switched off the light and crawled into bed, saying a silent good night to Rumpelstiltskin. He couldn't hear her; there was no point in pretending that he could, but Nick might. "Good night, Nick. I love you." Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine his warmth next to her as she slipped into sleep.


	3. Chapter 2

MacAvoy lay fully-dressed on his bed, straining his ears for any hint of movement from his guest. He was afraid to leave the room in case she wanted to use the bathroom. If she ran into him, she might feel uncomfortable, and if she felt uncomfortable she might want to leave. MacAvoy, who hadn't been certain about _anything_ in years, was certain of one thing: he did not want Belle to leave.

She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen; he was celibate not blind. Belle was unbelievably lovely with her pale skin and chestnut curls and sad blue eyes. It was her eyes that had arrested his attention at the pub. There was a depth of melancholy in them that surpassed even what he saw on his own face every day, and for one shining moment he'd thought he could help her.

He hadn't known what to say- he _never_ knew what to say- and before he realized what was happening, he was telling her everything. Far from helping her, he was dumping his own fears and doubts onto her slender shoulders, and she didn't walk away in disgust like anyone else would have. Instead she'd held him and comforted him and looked at him like he was worth something.

In all his life, he'd never felt such an immediate connection to another person. Within five minutes Belle was as necessary to him as oxygen, and if she'd been staying at a hotel like he expected he probably would have spent the night camped out in the lobby in hopes of seeing her again the next morning. Instead she was here, just down the hall in his filthy home. He should clean before she woke up tomorrow, but if he made noise he might wake her up, and he didn't want to disturb her, didn't want to do anything that might make her want to leave.

He rolled off the bed and onto his knees, crossing himself as he gazed at the small crucifix that adorned his bedroom wall. He rattled off the words of the Our Father in a whisper, not wanting his voice to carry beyond the walls of this room. "Thank you, Father, for sending me Belle. Please give me the strength to be worthy of Your gift. Please give me the wisdom to help her. Please help me to be strong for her. Amen."

Belle was his sign, his gift from God. He'd sent her to him for a purpose. She would renew his faith, and he would help her conquer whatever demons lived in her eyes. He was _destined_ to help her.

That night he fell asleep feeling more hopeful than he'd been in years, and for once his dreams weren't disturbed by visions of the torments that awaited him in payment for his failures. He didn't stir during the night and awoke the following morning feeling rested for once.

He stuck his head cautiously out his bedroom door, relieved when he saw the bathroom door open. It was as much of a disaster as the rest of the house, and he flinched at the thought of subjecting Belle to it. He would clean today. He would make sure she was comfortable.

The sight of himself in the mirror was even worse. His hair was a greasy mess, his skin pasty, his eyes bloodshot, and from the look of his chin, he hadn't remembered to shave in days. That at least was easily remedied. He shaved with care, cursing his shaking hands when he nicked himself. A shower was next on the list, and he washed his hair twice, making certain to clean himself thoroughly. He needed to look presentable. He needed to look like a man she could have confidence in if he wanted to help her.

He hadn't thought to bring a change of clothes into the bathroom with him, so he wrapped a towel around his waist, double-checking the hall before darting across it to his bedroom like he was avoiding a firing squad. Once safely inside, he carefully selected the least-wrinkled trousers and collarino he could find, reasonably pleased when he checked his appearance in the mirror. He looked better. Not good, but better.

He pulled the whiskey bottle out of his abandoned jacket, debating the wisdom of taking a shot. He needed his hands to stop shaking, but the scent of alcohol on his breath wouldn't inspire much confidence in Belle. "Father, give me strength."

Leaving the bottle on his dresser, he left the room, listening for where Belle was. He couldn't hear her anywhere in the house, and he frowned. For some reason he'd expected her to be the kind of person who was up with the sun. Crossing to her bedroom, he rapped his knuckles lightly against the door, hoping not to wake her if she was still asleep.

No feminine voice greeted him, and he tried the handle, guilt churning in his stomach as he eased the door open. He wasn't trying to catch her out if she wasn't decent. He just wanted to see her, make certain that she was all right.

The bedroom was deserted with no sign that a woman had spent the night there. "Belle?" he called, his voice shaking. She could be downstairs. She was probably downstairs.

When she didn't answer him, he all but raced down the stairs, nearly falling more than once. "Belle!" There was no sign of her, no little blue car in the drive when he looked out the front door. She was gone.

She was gone, or she'd never been there at all. MacAvoy sat down hard on the couch, feeling like he'd been shot. A beautiful woman who listened to him and held him and came home with him... how likely was that? She'd been an alcohol-induced hallucination or a dream, the best, most vivid dream of his life. Perhaps she'd been a vision, an angel sent to him to comfort him in his time of need.

Whatever she'd been, she was gone now, and it hurt. He clenched his shaking hands, glaring down at them. Avoiding the bottle hardly mattered now, and he trudged back upstairs, unscrewing the cap and taking a swallow to ease the tremors in his hands and another to numb the pain of losing a woman who'd never been there at all.

The sound of a door opening got his attention, and he took another hasty swig of whiskey, wondering if he was being robbed. He didn't have anything worth stealing; he thought everyone in town knew that by now. Torn between staying where he was and letting them take what they wanted and attempting to defend his territory, MacAvoy finally recapped the bottle and stumbled back downstairs, coming up short at the sight of Belle in the small kitchen placing a variety of bags on the table.

She looked up, her pretty face brightening with a smile at the sight of him. "Oh, you're awake! Good morning, Father."

He hadn't dreamt her. MacAvoy dug his short fingernails into his wrist, verifying that he was indeed awake. He was. Belle was in his kitchen. She wasn't a dream or a hallucination. "You're real," he said hoarsely, staggering forward, and she flinched like he'd struck her.

"Ah... good morning," he managed, and her smile returned as she finished putting down her armload of bags. "Do you need help?"

"If you want to get the rest of the bags out of the car, that'd be great," she answered, and it was easier to obey than attempt to make conversation. Belle was real. Belle was _here_.

Belle was in the process of stocking his kitchen cabinets with food, he realized when he came back inside with the remainder of the bags. "You must eat out a lot," she observed as he added his bags to the pile already on the table.

"I'm not much of a cook," he admitted.

"I didn't know what you liked, so I just got the basics," she told him blithely. "Why don't you start taking things out of the bags so we can see what we have?"

As he did so, Belle went to work wiping out the empty refrigerator with a cloth he didn't remember owning. That mystery was solved two bags in when he discovered she'd purchased a variety of cleaning supplies, and his face heated with humiliation. Belle was his guest, and she was taking care of him like he was a child.

She hummed as she worked, starting a pot of coffee and neatly restocking the now-clean fridge, and MacAvoy rethought his initial impression. No woman- no _person_- would do all this for someone she'd just met. God hadn't sent him a friend. He'd sent an _angel_.

Backing into a corner of the kitchen to watch her, he crossed himself as he took in her graceful movements. Beauty and kindness shone from her, and if he let his eyes slip out of focus, the glint of sunlight against her hair made her look as though she had a halo. No wonder she hadn't told him her surname; she didn't have one.

Fear not, the angel had told the shepherds, but MacAvoy couldn't imagine being frightened of Belle. Her sheer goodness was unmistakable. She was an angel clad in jeans and a blue blouse, and she was obviously supposed to be incognito. He wasn't supposed to know, so he'd pretend that he didn't. Of course, since she was an angel, she probably already knew that he knew.

"I was going to make eggs. Is that all right with you?" she asked, and he nodded dumbly. Nothing in his life had prepared him for something like this. At seminary they'd learned how to identify miracles, but MacAvoy had never truly expected to see one. Now he had an angel in his kitchen offering to make him breakfast.

"Thank you," he finally managed, and she beamed at him, indicating that he should finish putting the groceries away as she cooked. In the confined space, he felt like he was continually in her way, but Belle didn't seem to mind. Instead she patted his arm or nudged him affectionately every time he got close to her, and it had been so long since anyone had touched him so kindly that he could barely keep away. He wanted to kneel at her feet and feel her hands in his hair as she blessed him, her purity washing away the darkness and weakness poisoning his soul.

He wasn't supposed to know she was an angel, so he finished the task she'd set him. Belle seemed to be nearly finished with breakfast, so he took the initiative of wiping off the table and finding them plates and silverware. They at least were clean, if dusty, and he wiped them off too, basking in her smile of approval.

The food she'd prepared was delicious, the best he'd ever eaten, and if he hadn't already known she was an angel, he would have suspected after that. He cleaned his plate embarrassingly quickly, but Belle looked delighted. "You're too thin," she chided as she finished her own meal at a more leisurely pace.

Considering that he was drinking half his meals, it wasn't a surprise. Still, he hadn't really noticed. "I want to get some cleaning done today," she informed him as she deposited their plates in the sink. She hesitated, turning back to face him. "That's if you don't mind."

"You don't have to," he assured her at once. Cleaning hardly seemed a fitting occupation for an angel.

"Well, I have to earn my keep _somehow_," she smiled, "Besides, you look like you could use a hand. No offense, Father."

Saying he needed help was the understatement of the century, and if his angel wanted to clean, they'd clean. "I'l help you," he promised. It was important she knew he was willing to work for his salvation. If she was willing to help him, he would do _anything_ she asked.

At the moment, she seemed more concerned with the state of his home than the state of his soul. MacAvoy could see the connection though. He couldn't counsel anyone here, was too disorganized to find the things he needed to do his work properly, and the sheer mess was no doubt influencing his state of mind. He busied himself with the detritus, throwing most of it away and putting the important things where they actually went, while Belle went to work on the windows. The curtains went straight into the washer while she attacked the filthy glass. The room was instantly warmer and brighter, and he felt warmer and brighter with it.

Belle told him stories about her travels as they worked through the day. It seemed she'd been everywhere, and he wondered about the people she'd helped before she'd come to him. Surely she'd seen more desperate cases than him. MacAvoy wanted to make it easy for her, wanted her to enjoy her time with him, but at the same time he was in no hurry to see her go.

Just having her in the same room made him feel better, and he was astonished by how much lighter he felt as Belle restored order. The knot of tension between his shoulder blades had started to relax even as guilt churned in his gut as he went through the papers in his office and saw just how many opportunities he'd missed to provide his flock with guidance.

Belle rested her hand on his shoulder, and he leaned helplessly into the touch, longing for her comfort. "Oh, baby," she murmured, wrapping her arms around him and pressing a kiss to the top of his head, "It's okay. You're going to start making it better now. You just need a system, that's all. We'll do that tomorrow."

He rested his head against her stomach, his arms tight around her waist as he clung to his angel. She was healing him, making him better, and with her at his side, he'd finally be able to do the job he was meant for.

With another kiss to his hair, she released him, picking up her bucket of soapy water to continue her ministrations to another part of the house. Unwilling to be out of her presence for an instant, MacAvoy trailed after her like a lost puppy, jumping when she turned back to speak to him.

"Oh!" she gasped, water sloshing everywhere as she stumbled back, clearly not having realized he was behind her. They were both wet, but she'd taken the brunt of it, her blouse plastered to her body.

"I'm _so_ sorry," he apologized, plucking the rag out of her hand to dab uselessly at her shirt. Through the cloth his fingers registered heat and softness, the most delicious softness he'd ever felt, and he jerked his hand away at once, the rag landing in the bucket with a wet plop.

"It's okay," Belle assured him, his angel graciously not mentioning that he'd just accidentally copped a feel. "It's just water."

She glanced down at herself and pulled a face, "I _am_ going to change though." Pausing to put the bucket in the kitchen sink, she headed upstairs to do just that, and after a moment MacAvoy realized that he looked a bit worse for wear himself. Assuming she'd be safely in her bedroom, he went upstairs himself, freezing in the center of the hall when Belle stepped out of the bathroom clad only in her jeans and bra.

Her back was to him, but she didn't remain unaware of his presence for long when he sucked in a noisy breath at the sight of her bare skin. "I'm sorry! I thought you were still downstairs." She picked up her pace but made it only a few steps before he lunged forward, grabbing her upper arm.

"Belle..." His voice was hoarse, and he couldn't think of anything else to say as he lifted his hand to brush her hair forward over her shoulders. She hung her head, staring at the pattern of the carpet as he traced shaking fingers over the angry scars that covered her skin. "Oh, Belle..."

Her pale skin was decorated with long, thick red marks that looked to have come from a knife or a whip. He could feel the ridges beneath his fingertips, and tears stung his eyes as he read her pain in Braille. An angel wouldn't be marked like this. Belle was human. Belle was _hurt_. "A doctor," he finally managed to say, "We need to take you to a doctor."

"They're old," she assured him, stepping gently out of his reach. She turned to face him, her arms folded modestly over her chest. "They don't even hurt anymore. It's okay."

He stumbled after her as she walked into her bedroom, barely aware of how much he was violating her privacy as he watched her pull a clean shirt over her head. "Who did this to you?" he pleaded, his mind racing as he struggled to put the pieces together. Her sad eyes, her traveling- her _running_, he corrected himself, the glimpse he'd gotten of a wedding ring on the chain she wore around her neck, they all added up to one horrible possibility.

Marriage was sacred, the purest bond two people could share. It was an obscenity to even _think_ about her husband raising his hand to her. To leave marks like that... "Is he still after you?"

Belle deserved nothing but happiness, but from the look of her, she'd had little enough of it. That ended _now_. He'd been right the first time: Belle was the one he was meant to help. He would defend her with his life, keep her safe no matter what.

She smiled at him sadly, "No one's coming after me. Don't worry; I didn't bring the wolf to your door."

She thought he was worried about _himself_? Nothing could be further from the truth. He would offer his own body up as a shield for her and consider it a privilege to defend such purity. Reaching out he took her hands in his, noticing that for once her fingers were trembling as much as his were. "I'll protect you," he vowed, "You're safe here, Belle. You don't have to run anymore. I'll keep you safe."

Squeezing his hands, Belle leaned up to kiss his cheek. "Thank you. Truly though, there's nothing to worry about. The person who gave me those is long gone."

"Tell me," he whispered, not letting her go. He would save her the way she was already saving him. He would _help_ her, but in order to do that, he had to know her. "Please, Belle."

With a sigh she pulled out of his grasp, and he had to bite back a whimper at the loss of her warmth. MacAvoy cursed himself mentally. It was her comfort that was paramount now, not his own. "It's a long story," she hedged.

"Then we'll sit down for it," he said stubbornly, and she laughed, the shadows in her eyes dissipating.

"You're not going to let this go, are you?" she asked, reaching up to play with her necklace, "Even though it doesn't matter anymore."

"It matters to you," he told her, "And you matter to me."

Clumsy as the words were, they seemed to be the right thing to say. Belle nodded, trying to smile for him as she sat down on the edge of the bed, patting the spot beside her. He took it instantly, wrapping his arm around her in hopes of offering her comfort for a story he already knew was going to be as difficult to hear as it would be to tell.

Taking her necklace in hand, she held it out for him to look at, a pair of wedding rings in her fingers. She took a deep breath and leaned into him, and he hugged her tighter, glad he could offer her his support. After a moment, she began, "I met my husband when I was nineteen..."


	4. Chapter 3

_Warnings: Here be character death and medical ickiness. You may wish to have a tissue on standby._

* * *

She couldn't tell him the truth. Joseph wasn't like Nick; he didn't have first-hand experience with alternate realities. If she told him her true love's name was Rumpelstiltskin and she was the daughter of a king, he'd think she was mad. A variation of the truth would have to do.

In this version of the tale she sold herself into service as a housekeeper for the cruelest and most feared man in Maine in order to save her father from a worse fate when he couldn't pay his debt to the man. Belle winged a quick apology at the memory of her father for painting him in such a light, but mentioning ogres was out of the question.

"He... Did he hurt you?" Joseph asked, and his hold on her tightened just a little bit, trying to protect her from years and miles away.

"Oh, no," Belle smiled as she thought back on that magical time in the Dark Castle. "He blustered and tried to frighten me, but it didn't work. I could see how lonely he was. He didn't need a housekeeper. He needed a friend."

Her words could have described her current situation just as well, and she took a moment to be grateful for the fact that Joseph was a priest. History would not be repeating itself here. They'd be friends and nothing more, and she'd remember him fondly once she'd gotten him back on his feet and moved on. She couldn't bear to love him and lose him too.

"We fell in love." The sentence was so short and simple that it seemed totally unsuitable to explain what had happened between them. "We should have been happy, but he had an enemy, a woman who hated him. She kidnapped me, locked me away. She's the one who gave me these scars. She wanted me to tell her his secrets."

"But you didn't," he said, looking at her with something like wonder. The story she'd told would be at home on a soap opera, but he seemed to believe her, and she was grateful for it.

"No, I didn't." There were days she'd been tempted, so tempted to simply give Regina what she wanted. The lashings had been excruciating, but the real pain came in waiting for a rescue that never came. Rumpelstiltskin loved her no matter what he said, and she'd had absolute faith that he'd save her. Every day that he didn't come left her more shaken and more vulnerable. It was Regina of all people who renewed her hope when she taunted her by saying that Rumpelstiltskin knew exactly where she was; he just didn't care enough to come save her.

If the queen was making a point of telling her that, Belle knew it couldn't possibly be true, and she'd been proven correct at their reunion. Learning that he'd thought her dead had gone a long way toward dissipating her anger. "Eventually, we found each other again, and we were married." Without taking her necklace off, she slipped her finger through her wedding ring, finding it fit as perfectly as it always had.

"We had five years together before that woman came back. He died to save me." Her voice broke at the memory, and she clenched her fingers around Rumpelstiltskin's ring as Joseph pulled her into him, her head resting against his shoulder as he held her close.

Closing her eyes, Belle tried to concentrate of the feeling of linen beneath her cheek to ward off the memories, but even after all this time they were still too raw to be denied.

_The only part of her body she could move was her eyes no matter how hard she struggled against Regina's entrapment spell. This kind of open magic battle was far more Regina's forte than Rumpelstiltskin's. He preferred more subtle magics and manipulation to outright dueling, but he was still more powerful than the queen. Even on the playing field of her choice, she couldn't beat him in a fair fight._

_It was, of course, why she wasn't fighting fairly. Frozen where she was, Belle was a sitting duck, and Rumpelstiltskin couldn't defend her, defend himself, and break the restraint spell simultaneously. Too much of his attention was on protecting her, and Belle struggled to move her mouth, to scream at him to let her be and save himself. She could see him weakening as he took more hits than he landed, his power ebbing under Regina's onslaught._

_Even if she hadn't recognized his pallor and shaking hands for the dangerous signs they were, Regina's vicious smile would have told her everything she needed to know. The queen was winning, and it was her fault. _

_Broken and bleeding, he dragged himself closer to her, shielding her with his body when his magic failed him, and one final blast from Regina brought him down and kept him down. The queen's lips moved in what had to be some cruel quip, but Belle couldn't hear her. The restraint spell had been lifted now that it was no longer needed, and she scrambled to her love's side, his skin flickering back and forth between gray scales and pink flesh, his eyes already glazed over._

_"No, please, please. I love you," she begged, pressing her lips to his in a desperate kiss. True Love's Kiss would break any curse, but this wasn't a curse. This was complete and utter overload of both his physical body and his magical senses, and there was nothing her kiss could do._

_He managed to focus on her, his eyes huge as he struggled to lift his hand. Belle caught it in hers and brought it to her face as he tried to talk. "You're... safe?"_

_"You saved me," she answered, and he nodded, satisfied._

_"Good," he wheezed, his breath rattling in his chest, "Love you, Belle."_

_She drew his head into her lap, her tears splashing against his face. She didn't bother wiping them away. He couldn't feel them any more anyway._

"If it wasn't for me, he'd still be alive," she whispered into Joseph's shoulder. "It's my fault." Rumpelstiltskin had survived five hundred years as the Dark One, and she'd been the end of him in less than a decade.

"He loved you and wanted you safe," Joseph told her fiercely, "It was his choice. You were worth the price."

They'd killed Regina after that. The battle had taken weakened her too, to the extent that Emma could put a bullet in her head. That alone wouldn't have been enough to stop her, but it slowed her down so that they were able to cut her heart out and burn it. Belle had helped, surprised that the woman even had a heart to burn. Then she'd _run_.

"I ran away after that. I couldn't stay in Maine any longer. There were too many memories. I told myself that if he gave his life so I could live, I was going to _live_." Rumpelstiltskin's loss had left her bowed, but not broken. She'd lost her true love, but she'd still had herself, and she was determined to honor his memory. He wouldn't want her to roll over and die. "I went back to school, found a job, and that's when I met Nick."

Nicholas Rush had come along far too soon. The last thing she'd wanted was another man in her life, but he wouldn't go away. Ancient technology bore a suspicious resemblance to things she'd known or read about in the Enchanted Forest, and she'd wondered how much of that overlap was coincidence and how much had been caused by the Curse. He'd been in her face on a daily basis wanting to know things or getting her to translate. Despite her usefulness to him, Belle still thought it was her ability to make coffee exactly how he liked it that had resulted in her getting dragged along to Icarus with him.

"I was working on a government project having to do with advanced technology. He was the lead scientist." She withdrew her finger from her wedding ring and fingered her engagement ring instead. He'd made it for her, all twisted copper wire wrapped around a small blue stone he'd found on a planet somewhere. Nick wasn't an artist, and he wasn't a romantic, but it was still the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her. "He'd lost his wife to cancer, and I'd... well. We just fit."

It was a gross oversimplification. They'd connected at once, but there'd been nothing easy in the way their relationship had developed. Neither of them had wanted to fall in love; they'd fought it tooth and nail. Belle would have been content just to be a ballast against his rage and loneliness, to give him some happiness through her friendship. She hadn't wanted to betray Rumpelstiltskin by loving another.

Then she'd been hurt on a mission and woke in the infirmary to find Nick beside her, vowing that he wouldn't lose her too before kissing her senseless, and there'd been no turning back after that. They still grated on each others' nerves, and there were days she'd wanted nothing more than to shove him through a blocked gate address, but they'd been happy.

"Tell me about Nick," Joseph prompted, adjusting his hold on her. They'd started out sitting on the edge of the bed, but they'd moved at some point, curling up together at the head. Belle was practically in his lap as he held her close, the warmth of his body incredibly comforting. No one had held her like this in ages. Not since Nick.

"He was brilliant. And arrogant, and rude, and _completely_ amoral." Belle smiled into his collar, wondering if Nick could hear her now, "He was always angry at everyone. Except me. I think I was the only person he could trust."

She was the only one who got to see the other side of Nicholas Rush. With her he was warm and loving- not gentle exactly, he didn't have that in him, but careful. "I loved him very much. We were going to be married." She ran her thumb over the last ring on her necklace, a small loop of metal she'd formed out of the frame of his broken glasses, a placeholder for the wedding ring she'd never given him.

They were going to get married once they got back to Earth, and they'd gotten so very close. After seven years on Destiny, they'd finally gotten the hang of it. New systems were coming online all the time. They figured out how to pilot the damned thing. It was only a matter of time before they were in a position to gate home. They'd even managed to bring the Ascension Arch online, something the Ancients themselves hadn't managed to do.

Nick had stared at the arch for hours once they activated it, but he'd looked surprised when she asked him if he was planning to use it. Given a choice between staying with her or learning the mysteries of the universe, he'd chosen _her_. Which made what happened next all the more unfair.

Belle took a deep breath and prepared herself to tell her first real lie. "There was an accident. An explosion. Nick hung on for a day, but there was nothing anybody could do." Joseph kissed the top of her head as she sobbed against his shoulder.

The energy blast had done more damage than anyone realized at first. Nick had been able to walk through the gate under his own power, but he'd collapsed moments after. When Belle arrived at the infirmary, he'd been arguing with TJ, wanting to go back to work, his voice oddly breathless. He was burying his fear under anger, and he'd clung to her when she climbed onto the bed beside him, holding him close as TJ tried to figure out what was happening.

_"I'm sorry," the blond woman breathed, and Belle was scarcely aware of the crowd that had formed around them as TJ shared the test results. The medical terminology flew over her head, but the gist was easy enough to understand. Nick's internal organs were liquifying as they spoke, the energy blast having a similar effect to being doused with massive amounts of radiation._

_"Can you fix him?" Eli asked, his wavering voice reminding Belle just how young he really was._

_"I can try," TJ said, trying to inject some confidence in her voice, unwilling to say what everyone already knew. _

_Belle wrapped herself around Nick, and he curled into her, the show of vulnerability proof of just how dire the situation was. "Can we use the interface to upload him into Destiny?" Brody suggested desperately, "Or there's the arch."_

_She shuddered at the thought of Nick inhabiting Destiny's systems. It would be fine now, but once they found their way home, he'd be left alone. The arch wasn't a bad idea though, "You always wanted to know more about Ascension."_

_Nick shook his head, his face hot against her throat. "I promised not to leave you. I _won't_ leave you," he vowed, his voice thick. "I'll take my chances with TJ."_

_Within twelve hours he was burning with fever as his body tried to fight off what was happening. Within sixteen hours, he was raving, his organs failing one by one, and if they let this continue he'd be dead in a matter of hours. Belle made a decision._

_"Nick," she cradled his head, forcing him to face her. "We're going to take you to the arch."_

_His eyes were dark and agonized, blood oozing from his mouth as his lungs started to collapse. Even so, he shook his head, clinging to her wrists, "Don't wanna leave you. Promised."_

_"You're _dying_," she said harshly. "This is the only way you can keep your promise. If you do this, you'll always be with me. Do it for me, Nick."_

_It was emotional blackmail, plain and simple, but she couldn't let him just die when there was a chance to save him. If Nick Ascended, he'd have peace and all the knowledge he could ever want. Either way, she was going to lose him. At least this way she could give him something he'd wanted and know that he was still out there somewhere._

_By the time they got him to the arch, he was coughing continually, his own body drowning him. Their goodbye kiss tasted of blood and pain and pure, true love. "Love... I love you," he managed to grind out as he struggled just to breathe. "Stay with you. Watch you. Promise."_

_"I know you will," she murmured, clinging to him, and even though they had so little time to pull this off, it was nearly impossible to let go. "I love you."_

_Brody activated the arch as soon as she stepped out of range, and then Nick was gone. AFterward, there were moments Belle could almost feel his presence in the room, and she didn't think Ascension worked like that, but Nick was a stubborn bastard. If he'd promised to watch over her, he'd find a way to do it._

_A month later they found their way home. Belle liked to think he'd had something to do with that._

She was sobbing hysterically in a way she hadn't even when it happened. She'd kept herself too busy in the aftermath first with Destiny and then with her travels; this was the first time she'd let herself truly feel the pain of Nick's loss. Joseph rocked her, murmuring words of comfort into her hair as he held her as tightly as he could.

"I lose everyone I love," she said bleakly. With Regina's determination to destroy true love for everyone, it was easy to imagine her placing a curse to do just that. As soon as Joseph was doing better, she'd have to leave Middlesbrough. She wasn't sure if the curse applied to friends as well as lovers, but she couldn't risk killing him too.

For now she lay in his arms and just enjoyed the closeness, the feeling that someone was there for her. Even if Nick was hanging around- and she liked to think that he was- that was no substitute for a warm, solid body holding her tightly. Finally she lifted her head, smiling tenderly when she saw that Joseph's face was as tear-stained as her own. He was such a sweet soul; he was just a little lost. It wouldn't take much at all to get him back on track.

She tugged her shirt sleeve over her hand and dabbed at his face, giving a watery chuckle as he did the same thing for her. "Thank you."

He made a soft noise, his eyes agonized, then he covered her hands with his, bowing his head over them. Belle watched his face as he closed his eyes, murmuring a prayer asking forgiveness and mercy for those she had lost so they could one day be reunited. When he'd finished, she echoed his amen, touched by the gesture.

"Are you hungry?" she asked. It was getting late, well past dinnertime, and he was far too thin. When he stared at her in disbelief, she managed a genuine smile. "Come on. I need something to do with my hands."

He hovered near her in the kitchen as she put together a quick meal of pre-made soup and toasted cheese sandwiches. It wasn't one of her finer efforts, but she doubted he'd complain. He picked at his meal, spending more time gazing at her than eating until he finally said, "I wish I knew what to say."

"There's nothing you can say," she sighed. She'd heard plenty of condolences, and not one of them had ever made her feel better. "You listened. That helped."

"It did?" He looked startled by the thought. "Good. I mean... I _want_ to help you."

"You're a good man, Father," she murmured. Joseph watched her warily, apparently waiting for a qualifier to that statement.

"You're an angel," he informed her, and she blinked.

"I thought before... That doesn't matter now." The incoherent start left her even more confused, but he seemed to gather his thoughts after a moment, "You've been through so much, but you still help people. You're an angel."

Belle thought he was giving her rather more credit than she deserved, but it was still a lovely compliment. They finished their meal in companionable silence before she opted to turn in early, the recitation of her tale having left her feeling drained and somehow empty.

After bidding a silent good night to Rumpelstiltskin, trying to picture his face as clearly as she could, she whispered good night to Nick as well. This time when she remembered the feeling of being held close and protected, it was Joseph's arms she felt herself in, not Nick's embrace, and she slipped into a disquieted sleep, not sure if she was imagining the touch of fingers against her hair.


	5. Chapter 4

For all that Belle had claimed he'd helped her by listening, MacAvoy saw her words for the kind lie that they were. She'd been in so much pain as she told her tale, trembling and sobbing in his arms, and he'd failed her. What could his clumsy embrace possibly do to comfort a woman who'd lost so much? Nothing, and his arms were all he'd been able to offer her. Even now he couldn't think of anything he could have done differently, finding himself useless once again in the face of all the horrors the world could provide.

Belle was so kind, so _good_, and she'd suffered so much. How was that fair? How could God let this happen to her? He grabbed the whiskey bottle off his dresser and took a swig, trying to drown out those thoughts, but they wouldn't be quieted. People like Belle deserved nothing but joy and happiness in reward for their goodness, and yet she'd had everything she loved ripped away from her not once but twice. Meanwhile, he was a pathetic excuse for a man, and he'd had to overcome nothing but his own weaknesses. He'd failed even at that.

He didn't bother to get off the bed as he crossed himself. "She deserves better than me. Why did You send her to _me_? I want to help her. I'd do _anything_ to help her, but I don't know how. Please tell me how. There has to be a reason. Please don't let me fail her. I need Your guidance _please_. Just tell me what to do!"

No answer greeted his desperate prayer, and he took another drink, then another, needing something to fill the aching silence. God may have forsaken him, but surely He wouldn't turn His back on Belle. There had to be a reason she was with him. She was his salvation, and he _had_ to help her in return. The bottle kept him company as he tried to think of something he could do for her, some way to banish the shadows from her eyes. He had nothing to offer her but his tattered faith and his own company, and neither of those was worth much.

MacAvoy didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until he woke up, sprawled uncomfortably across his bed, still fully clothed. The bottle was empty, and his stomach rolled violently. Darting across the hall, he dropped to his knees in front of the toilet and retched, vaguely aware that the room looked better than it had when he'd gone to bed. Then he was off again, losing the mostly-liquid contents of his stomach in short bursts.

"Baby..." Belle murmured, kneeling at his side to press a cool cloth against his forehead as he vomited. She rubbed the back of his neck with her free hand, murmuring to him, "It's okay. Just get it out. You'll feel so much better."

He spit out a mouthful of bile and reached for the handle, flushing away the noxious stuff before collapsing to the floor, leaning back against the side of the tub as he struggled to breathe, his mouth tasting like something died in it. Belle handed him a glass of water, and he gratefully rinsed his mouth out, trying to keep his head turned away so she wouldn't smell his breath as she sat down next to him. Pathetic. He was _pathetic_.

"Do you get drunk every night?" Belle's tone was more curious than accusing, but he still winced.

"Yes," he rasped, his throat feeling raw, and she hummed a little.

"I think you should stop," she said matter-of-factly, and he couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped him. "What?"

"Sorry. I'm sorry," he shook his head, "You just make it sound so easy."

"I'll help you if you want." She leaned her head against his shoulder, offering him the comfort of her touch, and warmth bloomed through him.

He wanted to agree. He wanted to be a strong man, a man who wasn't a slave to the bottle, but he knew himself too well. Any attempt he made was doomed to failure, and he didn't want to disappoint her. Belle nudged him when he didn't answer her. "You said you drank because you couldn't help anyone. But you really _can't_ help anyone if you're drunk. You don't have anything to lose by trying. I'll help you, Joseph."

It was the first time she'd said his name, and the sound of it on her lips made him catch his breath. He'd been willing to work for his salvation when he thought Belle was an angel sent to help him, but now he knew the truth. Belle was _better_ than an angel. If she was an angel, she'd have to leave once she'd helped him, but since she wasn't, she could stay forever. God sent her to him for a reason. Maybe this was the first part of it. Maybe he'd know how to help her once they did this. "Okay."

Her eyes shone with warm approval, and she kissed his cheek. "I'm glad. It'll be okay."

For most of the day he was able to believe she was right. Belle's company helped curb the cravings as he reminded himself that he was doing this for her. His angel needed him to be strong so he could save her, and he would not let her down. She made sure he ate and kept him busy, and by nightfall the house was unrecognizable as his. The furnishings were still shabby, but everything was impeccably neat, sparkling clean, and smelling faintly of lemons. They'd even set up a calendar in his office so he'd stop missing important events. Everything was ready to move into the next phase of his life except for him.

By nightfall his head was throbbing, and he could barely eat the dinner Belle had prepared as much because of the violent tremors in his hands as the gut-wrenching nausea. He needed a shot to take the edge off and get his body back under control, but he'd promised to stop.

His body was slick with sweat, his skin clammy, but Belle hugged him anyway, moving to stand next to his chair so he could rest his aching head against her stomach and feel her arms around him. "You're going to be okay," she assured him, stroking his sweaty hair back, "I'm here. I've got you. We're going to get through this together."

He whimpered when she stepped away- being in her arms _helped_- but she leaned down to kiss his forehead and coaxed him to stand up. "Come on. Bedtime."

Clinging to her hand like a lost child, he allowed himself to be led upstairs even though it wasn't yet nine o'clock. A hot shower soothed his aching muscles and by the time he got back to his bedroom clad in the plaid pajama pants and white tee shirt he usually slept in, the only part of his wardrobe that wasn't black, he felt a little better.

In his absence, Belle had found his ironing board and set it up, going to work on his wardrobe. She jumped at the sight of him and laughed off his bewildered look. "This is the first time I've seen you out of uniform."

A pitcher of water had materialized next to his bed, and she pointed at it as she helped him get under the covers. "I want you to drink as much as you can." Once she'd made sure he was comfortable, she pressed another long kiss to his hair, "You're going to be okay, baby. I'll be right here. Tell me if you need something."

He needed her to hold him- he hurt less when he was in her arms- but he couldn't ask her to do that. Instead he watched her work, admiring the way the light bounced off her hair. In this light it seemed to have some red in it, and it looked wavier than it had been that morning. "Is your hair curly?"

Belle didn't even blink at the random question. "It is. I usually blow dry it straight, but if I leave it alone, it curls."

"It's pretty," he told her, and she shot him a dimpled smile over her shoulder before looking meaningfully at the pitcher of water. He poured himself half a glass and sipped at it. He was shaking more now, the tremors having moved from his hands into his arms, and that was all the could manage without spilling. He was sweating again, and he wiped his face with the sheet, glad that Belle had her back to him.

The light was making his head throb, and he closed his eyes, his breathing sounding loud and ragged in the room. From her position at the ironing board, Belle began to sing quietly, snatches of songs he'd never heard before but liked instantly. Her voice was a soft alto, not particularly strong and a bit flat, but it was still the best thing he'd ever heard. "_Life to me is like an apple tree_..."

His stomach was churning, and he clung to her song to give himself strength. He could do this. He'd been sick before, and this time he had Belle. Belle needed him to do this; he couldn't let her down. He must have made some kind of noise, because she was at his side an instant later with a rubbish-bin in her hand for him to throw up into, gently stroking his hair as he did. Groaning, he pushing into her touch, needing her warmth. "Why didn't you _say_ something?" she chided him, another kiss taking the sting out of her words, "I'll be right back."

He could hear her rinsing out the bin in the bathroom before he lost track of her for a few minutes. MacAvoy managed to get his eyes open in time to see her come back into the bedroom, this time dressed in soft cotton pajamas. She unplugged the iron and placed the bin on the floor next to him, and as she got closer he saw that her pajamas had little teacups on them. She looked adorable, so soft and cuddly, and he moaned in relief when she crawled into bed next to him and pulled him into her arms.

"I've got you, Joseph," she whispered as he pressed himself as tightly against her as he could. Belle was warmth and safety, and he needed to be closer to her. She was his angel, and being in her arms was a benediction. "You're going to be all right. I won't let you go, baby."

He didn't know why she'd started calling him that, but he loved it. No one had ever cared enough to call him by a pet name before, and there was so much affection in her voice that just hearing it warmed him. He'd be worthy of her. Somehow, he _had_ to be worthy of her.

The night passed in a confusing blur. The tremors consumed his body until he was shaking violently, but Belle never let him go even when he cried out in the throes of a nightmare. His dreams were different now. Before he'd seen himself being tortured, but now they were worse. Now he stood frozen as Belle was whipped and beaten and punished, her entire body covered in bleeding stripes. No matter how much he struggled against his invisible restraints, he couldn't get to her, couldn't protect her, couldn't _save_ her, and her blue eyes were dark with agony and disappointment as she looked at him accusingly.

When he woke he had to touch her, to verify she was unhurt, that he hadn't really stood by and watched her being tortured, and Belle allowed it, his hands running over her face and arms as he looked for any sign of damage. "You're all right?" he asked hoarsely, and she nodded, her eyes bright with tears as she pulled him back into her arms.

Once when he woke the room was bright, and he hissed, covering his eyes with his hands. The next time it was dark again, and he realized there was a blanket covering the window. Sometimes Belle had him sit up and drink broth, which he couldn't see the point of because he was just going to throw it up again anyway, but he did it because she wanted him to.

Despite everything, it wasn't as bad as he'd feared it would be. He was shaking so hard he looked like he was having seizures; he couldn't keep anything down, and every part of his body throbbed, but Belle was always at his side, holding him, talking to him, singing to him, and reminding him why he was doing this. He wasn't a strong man, but for her he could be. For Belle he could do anything.

That was when the hallucinations started.

MacAvoy was reasonably sure that the dark clawed creatures weren't really there. Belle never mentioned them, but they always vanished when she looked in their direction. Once she looked away they returned with their gaping grins lined with hellfire, waiting to swallow him. They wanted Belle too, and he tried to keep himself between her and the creatures. They wouldn't get her without going through him first.

They talked to him, high-pitched sibilant whispers that he couldn't understand, and he buried his face in Belle's lap, trying to drown them out. He was crying and begging even if he didn't know what he was asking for, and she stroked his hair, murmuring words of comfort. Clinging to her legs like a child, he burrowed into her, trying to get closer, trying to disappear within her, his angel. Maybe then he'd finally be close enough.

At some point he'd stopped sleeping, but the nightmares still came, awful things where Belle screamed and cried and needed him and he could never, ever help her. She left occasionally to prepare food or shower or dump him into the bathroom so he could wash away some of the sweat and aches, and he panicked every time she was out of his sight. This time she might not come back. The creatures could devour her. She could realize what a waste of her time he was and abandon him. MacAvoy couldn't believe she'd stayed this long.

His angel always came back though. She held him, petted him, reassured him, and no one in his life had ever treated him like this before. He'd never let her go, _never_. He wouldn't survive without her.

Time was passing. Belle kept the window covered, but he marked days by her pajamas. The set with the teacups were replaced by frogs, then sheep, then some kind of bird, then it was back to the teacups again. Each time she went to change she came back smelling sweet with wet hair that curled about her face, and he tried not to touch her, conscious of how revolting he was. Belle, having none of it, simply hauled him back into her lap and told him another story.

The exhaustion ebbed away to be replaced by a kind of twitchy agitation, and staying in bed was suddenly too much trouble. This time when she left the room, he followed her like a bloodhound. Belle turned to look at him in disbelief when he stumbled into the kitchen. "You haven't slept in days. How are you up?"

"Not tired," he informed her, drumming his fingers against the table in a staccato rhythm.

"You need something to do," she said firmly, looking around for some kind of inspiration. She seemed to have been planning to make soup since there was a large pot already on the stove and a knife out on the counter. Keeping an eye on him, she put the knife away.

That wounded him. "I won't hurt you," he protested, and she moved to kiss his cheek.

"I know you won't, baby," she assured him, "I'm afraid you'll hurt yourself. You're a little out of it."

That he couldn't argue with. He wasn't exactly at his best. From somewhere Belle unearthed a puzzle that he was pretty sure had come with the house, and he fidgeted with it while she chopped vegetables and hummed. Once she'd finished, she came to help him, and he could concentrate better with her near. Everything was better when Belle was near.

They took a break to eat, but otherwise the puzzle occupied most of the day. It was important to finish it. He wasn't sure why. By the time they got done, leaving them with a rather nice picture of a waterfall, Belle was yawning, and he realized just how tired she must be from taking care of him. "I'm so sorry."

"For what?" she blinked at him, looking dead on her feet, and he put his arm around her, escorting her toward the stairs.

"You've been running yourself ragged taking care of me. You're my _guest_." He was a dreadful host. Taking care of Belle was his sacred duty, and he couldn't even let her sleep.

"I'm your _friend_," she corrected him with a tired smile, her eyes soft and warm, "You're not that much trouble, Joseph."

Belle was the best friend he'd ever had, and he didn't even think about it before he tucked her into his bed. She'd been sleeping with him for days, and it felt so right to have her next to him. Belatedly, he thought she might rest better in her own bed, but she didn't protest as he pulled the blanket over her before taking his place beside her. Resting his chin on his hands, he watched her lips curl into a bittersweet smile as she closed her eyes for a moment, a small furrow forming between her eyebrows. Next she opened her eyes and glanced at the ceiling, "Good night, Nick."

"You talk to him," he murmured, touched that she'd let him see such a private moment.

She nodded, her eyes downcast. "It helps."

"He can hear you," he assured her, "They both can. They're watching over you, and you'll be together again one day." MacAvoy had often thought of his own parents watching him; once he'd hoped they were watching with pride. For years that had been unlikely, but now he had hope again.

Belle's eyes shone with tears, but her face was peaceful. "Thank you."

He still wasn't the slightest bit tired, but some of the nervous energy had faded. Being near Belle steadied him, and he'd be perfectly content to lie beside her and just watch her sleep. She was so very beautiful like this, her face relaxed in repose. He couldn't imagine ever wanting to look at anything else.

With a careful hand he reached out to trace his fingers over the curve of her cheek. Her skin was the softest thing he'd ever felt. Emboldened when she didn't stir, he did it again, trailing just his fingertips over the side of her face and the curls of her hair. His beautiful angel. He didn't know what he'd done to deserve her.

He _didn't_ deserve her, but he would try to be worthy of her. Together they'd get him sobered up, and she'd teach him how to help people like she did. She'd make him a better man, and he would help her to be happy again. He'd show her that she didn't have to run anymore. She was home now, and he'd protect her.

"Thank You," he breathed, his fingers straying to her pointed little nose, "Thank You for my Belle. Father, give me strength. Help me be the man she needs. Help me be _worthy_."

He moved closer to her until he could feel the heat from her body radiating against his own. It was like being bathed in sunlight. He traced his finger over her lips, and his heart leapt when she exhaled, her breath caressing his skin. She was so warm, so alive. He pressed closer yet until his hip was against hers, wanting to be nearer to his angel, as close as he could get.

In a blissfully contented haze, he rested his head on the pillow beside hers so he could feel her breath on his face. He wanted to feel all of her against him, every bit of her sweetness and warmth. He wanted to bask in her light and see her smile at him, just at him. He wanted...

He wanted to kiss her.

MacAvoy jerked away, retreating to his own side of the bed as he scrubbed his hands over his face. It wasn't _fair_. God had sent him Belle. She was his salvation, the most pure thing in his life. Was there _nothing_ that Satan couldn't warp?

He sucked in a breath, cataloging the feelings buffeting him: the warmth pooling in his stomach, the way he gravitated to her, pulled in like a magnet, the need to be closer to his angel, always closer. It had been so long since he'd felt desire that he hadn't recognized it, but he did now.

Belle was his to protect and adore and save. She was _not_ his to kiss and touch. He had no right to even _think_ such things. Even if it wasn't a sin, she wouldn't welcome his caresses.

Unbidden the memory of his hand on her breast returned to him, and he smothered his groan into his pillow. It had been a brief touch; he'd stopped as soon as he realized when he was doing, but now he burned with the memory. Her lips had been so warm and soft against his fingers; how much better would they feel against his own?

This couldn't be happening. It had to be another symptom of the withdrawal like the nausea and the insomnia. Belle was too pure to be contaminated by his base lust. He would be strong for her. He would protect her even from himself, and he would _not_ allow Satan to ruin this. He did _not_ desire his angel.

Rolling onto his back, he crossed himself, pleading with the ceiling. "Father, give me strength. _Please_ give me strength."


	6. Chapter 5

It took three weeks for the worst of it to pass. Three weeks of pain and torment and fever. Three weeks of holding him while he raved and begged her to save him. There were moments when Belle wanted nothing more than to find a bottle of something strong and pour it down his throat just so his suffering would end, but if he was strong enough to endure it, she had to be strong enough to watch.

There was little enough she could do for him, but he seemed to take comfort from her touch. She had to admit that she liked it too. It felt good to have someone beside her again, however platonically, and she felt better being close enough to monitor him. She'd done some research on alcohol withdrawal on the ancient computer in his office, and the results had been frightening to say the least. She'd dreaded the convulsions and psychosis the website had threatened, but he'd been spared that. Belle hoped his god had protected him from the worst of it.

There had been times when his fever spiked that she'd been a heartbeat away from dragging him to the nearest hospital. Joseph had rejected the idea every time, looking so terrified that she hadn't had the heart to follow through. She'd told herself that at the first real sign of danger she'd overrule his wishes; Belle just hoped she'd be able to recognize that moment if and when it came.

The church was closed. Not knowing what else to do, she'd hung a sign on the front doors announcing that Father MacAvoy was unwell, but he'd be returning to his duties as soon as possible. Taking his keys, she'd locked the doors, hoping she wasn't violating some unwritten law of religion. This was not her area of expertise, but she was trying to remedy that. She'd found a copy of _Paradise Lost _in his office that looked like it had never been opened, and she was reading her way through it in what little downtime she had. She'd been caught out once when he needed to talk about his faith, and Belle was determined that it wouldn't happen again.

As unpleasant as the detoxification process was, it wasn't all bad. Joseph had periods where he seemed downright healthy, but he always regressed after he slept. It was a vicious cycle. Most of the time the insomnia kept him away from the rest his body needed to heal, but when he did manage to sleep, he woke up feeling a thousand times worse. There was little enough she could do for him, but the effort of keeping him clean, fed, and comfortable was enough to give shape to her days. Belle had almost forgotten how nice it was to be needed, to be necessary to another person, and if being in her lap made him feel better, she would hold him until the sun burned out.

Gradually, his periods of health began to outnumber the times when he was sick and terrified, and after three weeks, she wasn't quite ready to pronounce him cured, but he looked exponentially better. Joseph was steadier and able to keep most of what he ate down to the extent that he was actually putting on a little weight and losing the gaunt look that had plagued him. His eyes were brighter now, and although he still had the air of a puppy that was expecting a smack, he seemed slightly more optimistic.

Today she'd decided they were going for a walk; he needed some sun and to recoup his strength, and Belle was going stir-crazy from being locked in the house except for occasional outings for groceries. Clad in his customary clerical attire, the first time she'd seen him in anything other than pajamas in three weeks, the difference in his appearance was even more obvious. "You look _great_," she beamed, reaching up to straighten his lapels, and he blushed at her compliment.

"I feel better," he told her as he fidgeted with his cuffs, not quite meeting her eyes, "Thanks to you."

"No problem." For all that the last thing she'd wanted was to be his savior, Belle couldn't deny how good it felt to see the improvement in him and know that she'd helped. She was leaving his life better than she'd found it, and for the first time since Destiny she felt like she was doing something other than killing time. For the last year she'd had no purpose, and she hadn't realized until now how much that bothered her.

Once she found a place to settle down, she'd have to find something to do with her time. In a perfect world... Well. There was no sense thinking about that. She didn't live in a perfect world. Fortunately, her world had some wonderful things in it. "Come on. Show me some place I haven't been yet."

Between her cardigan and the warmth of his body next to her as she held his arm, Belle was comfortable in the weak sunlight. Joseph led her to a small park, and they found a bench to sit on, the short walk having tired him after the exertions of the past three weeks. It was still too early for the flowers to be in bloom, but they were on their way, and in a few weeks this would be a beautiful spot. They'd have to come back.

"How do you do it, Belle?" he asked her, and she glanced up to find him studying her instead of the view.

"Do what?" she asked, her mind a million miles away.

"Help." His dark eyes were serious as he gazed at her, "How do you know how to help?"

Although her first instinct was to shrug the question off, Belle forced herself to think about it. There wasn't anything special in what she'd done for him, anymore than she'd done anything amazing for Rumpelstiltskin or Nick. It had only seemed that way because no one else would do it. "I listen. People feel better when they talk things out, but most people just wait for their turn to talk instead of listening."

Joseph certainly seemed riveted to her words. He was watching her like he expected her to reveal the secrets of the universe. "All people need the same things. They need someone to listen, someone to hug them, and someone to care about them. Some people need more than that, but if you really listen, you can figure out what it is."

He turned away from her to stare blankly at the tree across from them, his eyes unfocused as he thought about what she'd said. "I think that's my problem," he said after a few minutes, "I don't think I listen."

"You listened to me when I told you about Nick and my husband," she reminded him, leaning against him to offer him her warmth. When he shivered, she pressed a little closer. They'd have to go back to the house soon. "It helped me when you did that."

"It just doesn't seem like enough." Joseph shook his head, his mouth compressed. "It feels like I should be doing something. Saying something. I wanted to do something for you that night, but I didn't know what to do."

Her heart melted at the helplessness in his voice. "You did. You held me, and you prayed for me. You can't bring them back, Joseph. No one can. You did what you could, and that was enough. Helping's about giving people what they need, not what you want to give them. I needed a hug."

Instantly, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to him, and Belle smiled as she rested her head on his shoulder. "See?" she murmured, "Helping."

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to her hair as several birds took noisily to the air from a nearby shrub. The sound made her jump a little, but they were still secluded on their little bench. For the first time, she wondered what they must look like to outsiders. At thirty-six, she wasn't exactly _young_ anymore, but she wasn't old either, and she was still an unmarried woman living with a priest. It looked suspicious, especially if they were going to cuddle in public.

Belle was still thinking about it that Sunday as she took a place on one of the pews near the front of the church and waited for Joseph to say Mass for the first time in a month. She could feel eyes on her, and she glanced down and twisted her wedding ring, hoping that by putting it on, she could lead enquiring minds down the route she wanted them to take.

Although she wasn't sure what to expect from the service, she thought Joseph did a fine job. He looked more confident than she'd ever seen him, and his voice was clear and strong. He was in his element doing this, and for the first time she could see him as the religious leader he was instead of the broken man she'd stumbled across. This was what he was meant to do, and she wouldn't let her presence in his life hurt that.

Afterward, she made a point of making eye contact and smiling at a few bustling older ladies, knowing from her experiences at court that they were likely to be hubs of gossip. She wasn't disappointed when a Mrs. Kelsey approached her, and she was able to spin her mostly-truthful tale. "I've just been lost since my husband passed." Belle didn't have to try to make her sorrow plain. "Father MacAvoy offered me a place to stay in exchange for housekeeping and cooking, and it's been good for me. He's a kind man."

Once her story was over, she got a hug from Mrs. Kelsey and the reward of overheard whispers, "Poor girl... widow... took her in... housekeeper..." The eyes on her were sympathetic now, so clearly she'd been believed. Belle was relieved to hear it. The last thing Joseph needed was his congregation thinking she was his bit on the side.

Indeed, she found herself welcomed with open arms as Joseph resumed his duties. It was nice to have other women to talk to while he was otherwise occupied. It reminded her of the hours she'd spent in embroidery with the other ladies of her father's court before the Ogre Wars began. Back then, all she'd wanted was to sneak away and read her book, but after a year of solitude, Belle appreciated the company. For his part, Joseph seemed delighted that she was fitting in. He was happier than she'd ever seen him, and Belle was starting to wonder if staying in Middlesbrough would really be such a hardship.

She had plenty of useful work to do between keeping the house tidy to acting as his secretary and preparing meals for the members of the church who were experiencing difficulties. Occasionally she came along on those visits, and she was never more proud of Joseph than when she saw him sitting with his parishioners, his dark eyes intent as he listened to what they had to say. If it wasn't for the way the cravings overwhelmed him in the evenings, Belle wouldn't have guessed this was the same man she'd met two months ago.

"I'm so proud of you," she enthused, hugging his arm as they walked home from calling on an elderly gentleman who'd broken his hip in a fall.

He glanced down at her, puzzled. "I didn't do anything."

"You listened." The words were becoming their mantra. "He looked happier when we left than he did when we got there."

"Maybe he was just happy we were leaving," he teased, and Belle giggled before her steps slowed. "Are you all right?"

Automatically she stepped to the side, taking Joseph with her as other people passed them by. Brow furrowed, she looked around. Everything seemed perfectly normal, but there was a prickle at the back of her neck that spoke of danger. Between Storybrooke and Destiny, her instincts had been honed, and right now they were telling her that something was wrong.

No matter how hard she looked, she couldn't see anything amiss, except for the way one of the cameras was moving to point at a nearby storefront. "Do the cameras usually move like that?"

Joseph followed her gaze. "I don't know. I've never paid much attention to them."

Although they'd bothered her at first, the cameras had slipped into the background for Belle too. She hadn't thought about them in weeks, but now she couldn't see anything else. Several other cameras were also aimed at the same shop, which seemed foolish to her. If you wanted security, a wider range of vision would be desirable. Something was happening. "Let's go check it out."

Once she would have carefully staked the place out, perhaps casually questioned anyone she saw leaving. That was Rumpelstiltskin's way: subtle and elegant. However, Rumpelstiltskin had been gone for ten years, eight of which she'd spent with Nick who was slightly more direct when he wanted something. "What are we going to do?" Joseph asked, keeping her close to him.

"Walk in and see what's going on," she said simply, and he didn't argue.

The store seemed deserted, but she could hear grunts and muffled cursing coming from the back room, so people were either fighting or greatly enjoying themselves. A faint flush stole over her face as she remembered a few afternoons she and Rumpelstiltskin had spent in the pawnshop's back room, and she was just about to suggest that they leave whoever it was to it when a shot rang out.

Belle darted forward instinctively, Joseph right behind her. "Hello? Are you hurt?"

A skittering noise near her feet brought her up short, and she yelped as a grenade slid across the floor toward them. Without thinking, she kicked it back the way it came just as Joseph tackled her around the waist, taking her to the floor and covering her with his own body, his arms wrapped protectively around her head. Although it felt like it took hours, it was less than a second before the grenade detonated, the explosion nearly deafening her as debris and a good chunk of the ceiling rained down on them.

She clutched at the front of his shirt, unable to get her hands free to try to shield his head which he'd left vulnerable in his effort to protect her. The entire sky seemed to be falling, and he hissed as most of it landed on him. Through it all, he kept his arms up to defend her, letting nothing more than dust touch her. There was a cracking noise, then a grunt, and suddenly his body went limp on top of hers.

"Joseph?" Belle cried, sounding panicky to her own ears. "Talk to me."

No warm, hesitant voice answered her, and she struggled beneath him, trying to free herself from his protective hold. He wasn't a big man, but he was still larger than her and better fed now, and Belle was huffing with effort by the time she finally managed to roll him off of her, putting one hand up to protect his head so it didn't smack against the floor.

Her fingers came away sticky with blood, and Belle inhaled sharply. "Oh no. Oh no, no, no," she breathed, yanking off her cardigan to press it against the gash on his temple angling down to his cheekbone. It was filthy but it was still better than letting his blood continue to gush out the way it was. "Joseph?" she said loudly, looking over her shoulder to see if whoever had thrown the grenade was coming after them. She didn't see anything, but in the dust cloud raised by the explosion, she might not see anyone until he was on top of them.

"Please wake up?" she begged, reaching to check his pulse. His heart rate was fast, but it seemed strong, and Belle considered that a good sign. She rested her fingers over his lips to verify that he was breathing even though she could see his chest rising and falling. Reaching up, she stroked his hair away from his face with her free hand. "Wake up, baby."

Fumbling in her purse, she retrieved her cell, and the number for emergency services just rang and rang until an automated voice put her on hold. She pulled Joseph's head into her lap, hoping she wasn't hurting him more by doing so, and this felt far too familiar for comfort. First Rumpelstiltskin, then Nick, now Joseph. It wasn't _fair_. They weren't like that. This wasn't true love; he should have been safe.

He should have been safe, but he wasn't. Belle glanced up as a blond man stepped into the remains of the room from the vague direction of the back and tensed. She had no weapons but her own two hands, but she would not let this man hurt Joseph further. He glanced down at the pair of them and looked at his cell phone, then shrugged and kept walking out into the street like nothing had happened.

Belle watched him go, wondering what on earth was happening. Middlesbrough was quiet, boring. Everyone had told her the same thing. This wasn't the kind of place where mild-mannered priests and their housekeepers were attacked with grenades. Something was very wrong here, and Belle knew exactly what it was: her.

It had taken her a decade to get Rumpelstiltskin killed. Nick had survived having her in his life for eight years. In two months Joseph was paying the price for her company. This had to stop. She'd get him taken care of, and she'd get out of his life before she succeeded in killing him too.

"Wake up, baby," she coaxed, lifting the cardigan to see that the gush of blood had slowed considerably. She hoped that was a good sign. "I've got you. I'm here."

As she waited for the emergency services operator to pick up, Belle reflected on her words. 'I'm here.' Yes, she was. That was the whole problem.


	7. Chapter 6

His body ached; his eyelids felt like they'd been glued together, and his head was pounding. MacAvoy whimpered, wondering how much he'd had to drink this time. Apparently a lot because he couldn't remember drinking at all. He couldn't remember even _intending_ to have a drink, and that was unusual.

He was lying on something hard, but his head was pillowed in softness, and a gentle hand was stroking his hair. Belle must have found his pathetic arse on the street. She'd be so disappointed in him. With effort, he managed to pry one eye open, and it was worse than he'd thought. He was lying in his angel's lap, and tears were running down her face.

"I'm sorry," he managed to rasp. The words were meaningless, but he had to say _something_. "I'm sorry. I won't do it again. I'll do better next time, I swear."

"You're awake," Belle beamed at him through her tears, then her face twisted in confusion. "What?"

"What?" he echoed and hissed as she moved her other hand, pulling something away from the side of his face. It burned, and when he turned his head to look at it, he saw blood. That brought the memories rushing back- gunshot, grenade, explosion, _Belle_- and he struggled to sit up, his heart racing. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she assured him immediately, pressing her sweater against his head again as she reached to steady him with her free hand.

Without thinking about it, MacAvoy ran his hands over her, exploring every inch of her with his fingers- face, hair, arms, back, everything he could reach- to make certain she was unharmed. Once he'd verified for himself that she was, he caught a handful of her skirt in his hands and bowed his head. "Thank You. Thank You. Thank _You_."

"Can you stand up?" Belle prompted him, and he realized that what was left of the ceiling was still creaking dangerously. They needed to get out of here. With her help he got to his feet, pleased when he was able to stand more or less unaided. He wasn't about to push Belle away through, not when she was tucked warmly against his side, her arm around him. "We need to get you checked out," she informed him.

His first instinct was to argue; he'd felt worse than this after a bender, but Belle looked worried, and he couldn't have that. "There's a clinic not far from here."

They left the wreckage of the shop behind, and although people were milling around in a mixture of fright and curiosity, no one official had arrived. "How long was I out?"

"Only a few minutes. I called the emergency line, but they just put me on hold." Belle tightened her grip on him as they attracted a few stares. They were both filthy and disheveled, and he was using his free hand and her sweater to staunch a bleeding head wound. This was the kind of thing that should have been attracting more attention than it was. "Something strange is happening," Belle announced, and he couldn't argue with her. Her instincts had been dead-on. There was something very wrong in Middlesbrough.

The waiting room at the clinic was jammed packed, but Belle made certain he had a seat, standing in front of him when she couldn't find one for herself, her hands fluttering nervously. In the background a telly was running with no sound, showing that what had happened to them wasn't unusual right now. It seemed the city was having a run of mysterious fires and explosions, and he wondered if Armageddon was upon them. If so, he'd expected it to be slightly more impressive.

Belle shifted her weight from foot to foot, and the thought of pulling her down onto his lap occurred to him. They shared a bed, why not a chair? She could sit on his lap so he could feel her warmth and reassure himself that she was unhurt. He could take her nervous hands in his and kiss them until she stopped fluttering and relaxed against him, and they could just hold each other and enjoy being safe. His body tightened at the thought of having Belle in his lap, and he stared down at his own hands, willing the surge of desire away. Belle was pure and good, too pure and good to be tainted by his lusts. Satan would not touch her.

But, oh, it would feel so good to touch her. Just to have her in his arms and feel her against him, so soft and warm. He wouldn't kiss her, wouldn't touch anything he shouldn't; he'd just hold her. Would that be so wrong?

The way his body stirred at the thought of having her clothed form pressed against his, however chastely, told him that it would be. Satan was everywhere; he had to be vigilant if he was going to protect Belle.

Warm hands covered his, and he started, the innocent touch sending a jolt through him. Belle was crouched in front of him, her eyes worried. "How are you feeling?"

He couldn't tell her the truth: that the mere thought of embracing her had left him more aroused than he could remember being in thirty years. That his entire body was aching with the need to have her pressed up against him. That he was craving her touch more than he'd ever craved whiskey, and he hadn't even let himself think about her bare skin yet. "I'm fine," he said hoarsely, hoping she'd attribute his trembling to blood loss.

"You shouldn't have _done_ that," she chided him, her eyes huge in her pale face. "You could have been hurt much worse than this. You could have died."

Tears were swimming in her eyes which made it hard to think. Seeing Belle unhappy was even more effective than a cold shower at dispelling his desire, and he pulled her into his arms without hesitation, settling her comfortably on his lap so he could kiss her hair. "I'd do it again," he said honestly. When he'd seen the grenade, he hadn't even thought about it. Belle _had_ to be protected. When she'd told him her husband died to save her, MacAvoy hadn't been able to think of a more worthy cause. He still couldn't. As long as he had breath in his body, _nothing_ would hurt Belle.

He held her close as she cried into his collar, and he wasn't sure what was upsetting her so much. The events of the day had probably stirred up bad memories. They'd pick up take-out on the way home, and he'd insist that she have a bath and go to bed early. She'd feel better after a good night's sleep.

When they were finally able to see him, Belle came with him automatically which spared him the trouble of having to ask. She gave him a dirty look when he insisted the doctor give her a once over before allowing himself to be treated, but having it confirmed that she was unharmed was more than worth it. The gash on his face was apparently deeper than he'd realized, and he was suddenly glad he hadn't looked in a mirror. Having it cleaned was unpleasant to say the least, but Belle held his hand through it all.

He clutched at her hand when they injected Lidocaine into the side of his face, trying not to whimper and squirm like a child. The numbing came mercifully quickly, and the seventeen stitches that followed were nothing. The doctor showed Belle how to clean the stitches, addressing her as Mrs. MacAvoy, and he told himself that the only reason he didn't correct the woman was because it wasn't important enough to bother with. She must have thought he was Anglican. Belle didn't protest, and for five blissful minutes they were Father and Mrs. MacAvoy before they were released with instructions to see a doctor in five days to have the stitches removed.

The streets seemed oddly deserted by the time they left, the people of Middlesbrough apparently opting to stay inside until the run of bad luck ended. Fortunately, their favorite Indian restaurant hadn't managed to explode and was still open. Belle had been through enough for one day; she shouldn't have to cook too or be subjected to his attempt at it. As they waited for their order, MacAvoy found himself staring at Belle's hand. She'd taken to wearing her wedding ring again as part of her cover as his widowed housekeeper. Considering that was exactly what she _was_, he didn't think the prop was entirely necessary, but Belle had seemed to think otherwise.

MacAvoy had never given a thought to the idea of marriage. If asked, he would have parroted the official explanation: a priest belonged to God and had to put his flock first. His loyalties could not be divided, and he could not give a wife and family the attention they deserved. Now he stared at the ring on Belle's hand and tried to imagine that he had put it there, that she was Mrs. MacAvoy in truth and not due to a misunderstanding. She would stay at his side always, and his need to touch her would no longer be a sin. Belle had renewed his faith, how could she be a distraction from it? She inspired him to be better at his duties, not worse. Since she'd come to him, he'd even started praying the Liturgy of the Hours again, and he hadn't done that in _years_.

The noise that escaped him was pained, and Belle caught his hand to squeeze it, her eyes tracing his stitches with concern. "We'll be home soon," she assured him before stepping back to maintain a proper distance. She wouldn't have to do that if they were married. If she was his wife, he could put his arms around her and find his strength in her embrace. He could accomplish so much more if he had the security of knowing she was his forever, that they were bound by marriage and not just by friendship. On this matter, the Church was wrong.

Wrong or not, he was still constrained by their rules, although he was starting to chafe under them for the first time. Belle wasn't his wife, could never be his wife, and it was greedy to wish for more than what he already had. He had her friendship and the comfort of her presence, and even if he could never have her body or the joy of knowing she shared his name, they could still be together forever, and that was more than he deserved.

The walk home was quiet, the silence between them unbroken until he deposited the take-out bag on the counter and Belle suggested from the doorway, "Why don't you take first shower?"

He felt filthy and disgusting enough not to argue with her. The water stung his stitches, the numbness wearing off, and he was careful not to use too much of their hot water, but he felt a thousand times better once he was clean. Dressing quickly in his pajama pants and shirt, he ruffled his hair with a towel and went to find Belle, hearing a noise coming from the guest room- her room, although she hadn't slept in it in months.

"Your turn," he announced as he nudged the door open, freezing at the sight that met his eyes. Belle's bag was open on the bed, and she was neatly folding the clothing that had hung in her closet. At the moment she had her blue blouse in her hands, the same one she'd worn their first full day together. MacAvoy grabbed the door frame for support, blood draining from his face. "What... what are you doing?"

His voice was low and hoarse, barely recognizable as his own, and Belle jumped at the sound, looking up guiltily. She crumpled the shirt in her hand, apparently fascinated by the way the fabric wrinkled. "I was only planning to stay in Middlesbrough for a couple of days, and I've been here two months now," she trailed off with a sigh before continuing, "I think it's time for me to move on."

"This is your _home_," he blurted. Belle belonged here, with him. How could she not feel the same way? She had friends and responsibilities he thought she enjoyed. They were _happy_.

"It's _your_ home," she corrected him gently, "You've been so kind to me, Joseph, but you don't need me anymore."

He stepped farther into the room and pulled the door closed behind him, leaning back against it. With the door shut, he felt more secure; she couldn't simply bolt. She'd have to talk to him, let him convince her. "I do though," he told her, hearing his voice shake. There had to be something he could say, some magic words that would convince her to stay forever.

"You don't," she denied, "You're doing so much better. The cravings aren't so bad anymore, are they?" It was true. At first he'd spent every night with his head buried in her lap as his head throbbed and his hands shook, the need for a drink psychosomatic instead of physical but no less painful. Belle stroked his hair and talked to him, distracting him so he could get through it. Lately, that had been happening less often, perhaps once a week instead of nightly, and the tremors weren't as violent. That didn't mean he didn't _need_ her though. He craved her company as much as he'd ever craved whiskey, and he wouldn't survive her loss.

He shook his head. "Not that. You. I need _you_. I'll always need you." What was he supposed to do without his angel? He couldn't go back to being cold and empty and lonely. She was saving him- every day she was saving him- and he couldn't let her go. They were _forever_.

If she left, it meant he'd failed. She'd saved him, and he hadn't yet been able to save her. If she left, he never would. She wouldn't want him to be a failure. "You'll be okay," she promised.

Lunging forward, he caught her upper arms, needing her to _stop_. She jumped at his rough handling, and he immediately relaxed his grip, hoping he hadn't hurt her. Her eyes seemed riveted to the stitches on his face, and a thought occurred to him. "If this is about what happened today, you don't have to be scared," he vowed. Belle was so brave that it seemed impossible that she could be frightened, but nearly being killed would surely rattle anyone. "Whatever is happening... It's not normal. It will stop. And I will never let _anything_ happen to you. I'll keep you safe, Belle."

He'd protect her, defend her with his life, ensure that no new scars ever marred her skin. With a sob, she wrested herself out of his hold, turning her back on him. "That's what I'm worried about!"

Listen. He had to _listen_, but she wasn't making any sense. "I don't understand," he pleaded, "Belle, please talk to me."

Bile rose in his throat as she moved back to her bag, but she didn't keep packing as he feared. Instead she fumbled through it, coming out with a picture frame. "Does this explain it?" she asked, proffering the frame.

MacAvoy took it automatically, his breath catching in his throat when he saw what it contained. Belle looked so young in the first shot, her hair long and curling prettily about her face as she beamed up at a dark haired man in a finely tailored suit. He smiled at her with his eyes more than his mouth, the love between them palpable; this then was her husband. The second picture was grainier, and Belle's hair was shorter, hanging just past her shoulders. She and another dark-haired man- Nick, this had to be Nick- were leaning against some kind of computer equipment and just looking at each other. Neither was smiling, exactly, but the sparkle in their eyes was evident even in the low-quality snapshot. A moment after this was taken, they both would have been laughing.

Tears stung his eyes as he ghosted his fingers over these moments from her past. She looked so happy, so very happy. Had she ever looked that happy with him? He thought not, and his heart broke for the woman standing before him. He'd do anything to return that sparkle to her sad eyes.

And he still didn't understand. "What is it supposed to explain?"

Belle stared at him in disbelief. "Do you really not see it? Look at them," she tugged on his arm until he was standing in front of the dresser mirror, "Now look at yourself."

There was a resemblance, he had to admit; especially if one ignored the fact he currently looked like Frankenstein's monster. He and her husband had very similar faces, their hair and eyes a close match, although his own hair was a few shades darker. Still, the other man looked a thousand times more elegant than he'd ever be able to manage even if Belle started devoting all her efforts to grooming him. It was harder to see what Nick looked like under the long hair and full beard, but if Belle thought they looked alike, he wouldn't argue. Part of him, a hidden, shameful part, thrilled at the thought that she saw a resemblance between him and the two men she'd loved, and he had no right to think such things.

"We look alike," he said carefully, still not sure what point she was attempting to make, "And?"

With a noise of frustration, Belle plucked the frame out of his hand and put it back in her bag. With her back to him, she said, "And both those men died a violent death after meeting me. Nothing ever happened in Middlesbrough until I came here, now look at you!"

Her voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands to muffle her sobs. In two steps he was at her side, his arms tight around her as he pulled her against him. "Whatever happened today had nothing to do with you," he tried to reassure her, placing kiss after kiss to her hair. She was trembling in his arms, and he pulled her closer. Belle should never cry, never, and he didn't know how to make her stop.

"I have to leave; why can't you see that?" she sobbed, and her nails dug into his shoulders. MacAvoy welcomed the faint sting of pain, he would gladly bear her pain for her if he could, would carry her cross and not find it a burden as long as he could see her walk unbowed.

"You don't," he insisted. "Belle, you're home. You're safe. _Nothing_ is going to happen."

"I'll get you killed too," she said bleakly, "I'm cursed."

"No, you won't, and if you do, I don't _care_!" he insisted, his voice rising, "Belle, you saved me; you _saved_ me. What life do I have without you?" If she was right and having her with him took twenty years off his life, he'd consider it a fair trade. Better a few months with his angel than years of emptiness and mourning what he had lost.

"A _longer_ one," she insisted, trying to pull out of his embrace. He held her tighter.

"Belle, stay. You have to stay. It's a coincidence, that's all. There's no such thing as curses." She laughed bitterly at those words, and he wasn't sure why.

She wiped her face on his shirt, the intimate action at odds with her controlled tone as she began, "Father, I-"

"Don't call me that!" he all but begged, feeling himself veering dangerously out of control. He wasn't a fighter, had never been a fighter, but for this he was willing to bite and claw and fucking _crawl_ if he had to, anything to make her stay. "That's not my name, Belle. Not to you."

"Joseph," she tried again, meeting his eyes, and the noise he made was embarrassingly close to a whimper. That still wasn't right, still wasn't what he wanted. He shook his head, mutely pleading with her as his hands tried to draw her closer. It was so hot in here all of a sudden, the air thick and heavy around them. He was breathing raggedly, unable to get enough oxygen into his lungs, and he was lightheaded with it, Belle looking at him as if she'd never seen him before. "Baby?"

"Yes," he gasped. That was it; that was what he wanted. If she was calling him that, everything was all right. They would be okay. "Please stay."

"Oh, baby." He could tell by the look on her face that her answer would be no, and he couldn't bear to hear it. When her lips parted to shape the horrible words, he silenced her the only way he could, bringing his mouth crashing down on hers.

He didn't know how to do this, couldn't remember the last time he'd done this, but he had to try. Clumsily he hauled her closer, trying not to simply mash his lips against hers. If he was going to do this, he wanted to do it _right_, but his nose kept getting in the way. Belle was still as a statue in his arms, a holy icon instead of a living, breathing woman, but she finally took pity on him and turned her head ever so slightly, and suddenly he was able to close his lips over her bottom one and suck, and- oh Heavenly Father Above- that was so much _better_.

He was too hot and too cold, and Belle's hands were on his shoulders, and he couldn't tell if she was pulling him closer or pushing him away. He couldn't tell if she was kissing him back or not, but her lips were so soft and warm, and she tasted so _good_.

Her flavor was sweet and exotic and familiar all at once, and he couldn't get enough. With a smothered groan he brushed his tongue over her lips, trying to get more of her, and his soul exulted when her lips parted for him. His angel was letting him kiss her. Of course she was; she always gave him what he needed.

Nothing in his life had ever been better than this. Her mouth was even more delicious than her lips, and he licked and licked at her, trying to taste everything she was. Belle quenched the thirst he'd tried and failed to satisfy with whiskey, and how could he have ever thought this was a sin? This was too pure, too good to be sinful. This was the holiest of communions, a blessed sacrament. God gave her to him knowing this would happen. Surely, then, this contact was ordained. He and Belle were meant to be.


	8. Chapter 7

Belle stood frozen as Joseph's mouth suddenly covered her, kissing her with a clumsy eagerness that broke her heart. His nose dug into her cheek, and she moved her head instinctively to give him a better angle, hearing him whimper when he was able to suck at her lower lip. He was holding her tightly against him, throwing her off balance, and she clutched at his shoulders as she tried to figure out what on earth was going on.

He was a priest, chaste and celibate, and yet he was kissing her as if his life depended on it. Kissing her in a rather lovely way, she realized. There was a muted desperation to it, but he was still gentle. When he swept his tongue over her lips, she couldn't help but part them, hearing his muffled groan as he slid his tongue into her mouth, exploring her, learning her, and it felt _wonderful_.

And he was still a priest. With more reluctance than she wanted to admit, Belle eased him away from her, feeling his hands clutch at her waist in protest. He was shaking, his eyes dark and wild, his stitches standing out vividly in his flushed face.

Belle cursed herself for her thoughtlessness. Half a building fell on Joseph today. He was still fighting off alcohol cravings, and he had seventeen stitches in his face that he'd gotten in an attempt to protect _her_. To add insult to injury, he'd walked into her room to see her packing without her even attempting to discuss it with him first. No wonder he'd flown off the handle. What a pathetic excuse for a friend she was.

"I'm so sorry, baby," she breathed, pulling him into an embrace, and he nuzzled his face against her neck, his arms tight around her like he was afraid she'd try to get away. He probably was. She wasn't safe for him- today had proved that- but leaving wasn't an option right now. Not when he still needed her this badly. "I should never have... I'll stay."

He jerked his head up to look at her, his eyes wide with hope. "You won't leave me?" he questioned, making certain he'd heard her correctly, "Promise?"

_'I will go with you forever.' _ Those remembered words made her throat ache as much as the desperation in Joseph's face. "I'll stay as long as you need me," she hedged. She'd promised both Rumpelstiltskin and Nick forever, and that hadn't ended well for either of them. She wouldn't make the same mistake a third time. Eventually she'd have to leave if she wanted to keep him safe. She just had to make sure he could stand on his own two feet first.

"I'll always need you," he told her earnestly, and she pulled him into another hug, pressing her lips to his hair. He was so incredibly sweet, so kind and gentle. She'd always known how much Rumpelstiltskin and Nick both needed her, but neither of them had ever been this open about it. Joseph wore his heart on his sleeve, and she had to admit it was nice not to have to work so damned hard for a change.

"I'm going to take a shower," she told him at last, trying to sound normal. "Why don't you heat up dinner?"

With a wary look at her bag, he nodded. "Do you want to eat in bed? We're both tired."

Considering how intensely they'd been kissing only minutes ago, the thought of climbing into bed with him made her a bit uneasy. As she thought about it, her eyes again found the row of stitches. The man had all but thrown himself on a grenade for her. If he wanted to eat in bed, they'd eat in bed. "Sounds good."

Standing under the hot spray, Belle didn't allow herself to think about the kiss. Joseph had been stressed out and emotionally overwhelmed. It was just a freak thing that wouldn't happen again. "Nick?" she whispered, looking up toward the ceiling, "Would you keep an eye on him? Make sure I don't get him killed while I'm here?"

Maybe he already was; this afternoon's incident could have been considerably worse. All things considered, they'd both been very lucky. A warm glow filled Belle at the thought of Nick protecting them. "I still love you, Nick," she murmured, leaning against the shower wall, "I'll never forget."

She took her time getting cleaned up, and by the time she was done, she felt better about things. Joseph hadn't been badly hurt, and maybe it really was just a coincidence. The thought of Nick as some kind of guardian angel was laughable, but Belle couldn't think of anyone else she'd rather have on her side. Everyone on Destiny knew better than to screw with Rush; she was certain the universe was quickly learning the same lesson.

By the time she came out of the bathroom, the lights were off downstairs, and she made a quick stop in her room to drop off the barrette she'd forgotten to take out of her hair until she attempted to wash it. When she flicked the light on, she couldn't help but smile and sigh at the same time. Every piece of clothing she'd folded was hanging neatly back in her closet, her bag returned to its former position on the top shelf. Joseph, it seemed, was taking no chances.

He brightened when she entered his bedroom, holding up the food containers for her approval. He'd piled the pillows up at the head of the bed so they could lounge in comfort without choking, the blankets pulled back invitingly for her to join him. Belle did so at once, snuggling into his side without a second thought as he offered her the container of prawn madras she'd ordered. Chivalrous as he was, he hadn't touched his own lamb curry, preferring to wait for her.

Belle tucked the blankets around them, creating a cozy nest as they ate in comfortable silence. Occasionally he'd offer her a bite of lamb off his fork or she'd give him a taste of her prawns, the pair of them sharing utensils without a second thought. Anyone watching them would think they were married, she realized with a bit of dismay. The doctor at the clinic today had, and she hadn't thought anything of it until now, assuming it was simple misunderstanding due to the ring on her finger. She hadn't realized until that moment just how much they acted like a married couple.

It was high time she went back to sleeping in her own bed, but the idea didn't appeal. It felt good to have someone next to her in bed, warm and solid and safe. She couldn't imagine Joseph agreeing either. She'd never met anyone as starved for affectionate contact as he was. Nothing made him happier than cuddling with her.

That was, of course, the problem. "Thank you for unpacking for me," she said in an effort to distract herself from her train of thought.

He looked at her warily, apparently trying to tell if she was being sarcastic. "You're welcome?"

"I mean it. It was nice," she assured him, and his shoulders relaxed.

"You work so hard," he explained, offering her the last bite of his curry, "I don't want you to... I want you to be happy."

She took her time chewing, thinking over his words. After she'd lost Nick, Belle had felt that she'd never be happy again, and for a year she'd proven herself right. Now she had useful work, people who cared about her, and Joseph, and she was more content than she'd been in a very long time. "I'm not unhappy."

He didn't look entirely satisfied with her response, but he didn't argue, waiting until she'd finished her meal before taking her empty container and stacking it with his on his nightstand, their forks nestled together. "I'll take care of it in the morning," he promised, looking like he anticipated a scolding.

Nothing was further from Belle's mind; she was warm and comfortable and well-fed, and the dishes could wait. "Fine by me," she agreed as they snuggled deeper into the blankets, her head pillowed on Joseph's shoulder. She bid good night to Nick and Rumpelstiltskin, then warm lips pressed against her temple.

"Thank you for staying with me," Joseph murmured, and she wrapped her arm around him to hold him tighter, noticing the quiet, pleased noise he made when she did.

"You're welcome, baby." He sighed at the pet name, burying his face in her hair, and she shivered, telling herself she was being ridiculous. Joseph was a priest. His vows meant nothing could ever happen between them; he knew that even better than she did. Those vows were the only things that might allow him to survive his association with her. He'd had an awful day and wanted the comfort of touch; that was all this was.

Once the thought crossed her mind, Belle couldn't get it back out. Although Joseph didn't try to kiss her again in the days that followed, he stuck close to her side, touching her every time she was within arm's reach. It was chaste and gentle, just a brush of his fingers against her shoulder or her hair, but he did it constantly. She wasn't certain if he'd always done it and she'd just never noticed or if this was new.

Even more disturbing was how often she found herself reaching for him. Had she always hugged him this often? He melted against her every time without a hint of surprise, so perhaps she had. She needed to stop that too, but Joseph always looked so happy at the touch that she couldn't bear to deny him.

"What do I do, Nick?" she asked one morning when she was alone in the house, Joseph busy at the church with Mass and confessions. He was busier now than he'd been in past weeks, people seeking the comfort of religion in the wake of the terrorist attacks that had shaken the entire city. "I didn't want this. I _don't_ want this. But he's so... He's sweet. Really sweet. And he's so earnest, and he has such a good heart, and he needs me so much, and I... I'm falling for him."

Belle tried to imagine the look on Nick's face as if he was sitting beside her, coming up with his patented expression of annoyed disbelief. It was fair enough; Nick and Joseph couldn't be any more different. It seemed impossible she could find herself attracted to Joseph after having been with Nick. If he was here, he'd be in a jealous snit and probably trying to convince her to have sex in the church.

The problem was that Nick _wasn't_ here, not the way she wanted him to be. Although it warmed her to think he was watching over her and listening to her, he couldn't hold her. Joseph could.

Joseph could, but he shouldn't and she shouldn't want him to. Whatever was between them could never develop into anything. She wished he'd never kissed her, had never awakened the latent attraction. There was no way this could end well. If she left, she'd break his heart. If she stayed she'd either tempt him into breaking his sacred vows or get him killed or both. "Nick, tell me what to do," she pleaded as she buried her face in her hands. She could feel warmth against the top of her head and took comfort in it. It was probably nothing more than a stray sunbeam, but Nick had always liked touching her hair.

It took another week before a semblance of an answer presented itself. They were visiting Mrs. Eddard, an elderly woman who'd recently suffered a stroke. Belle had brought along a minced chicken casserole, something easy to chew and swallow, and was putting it in the refrigerator when Ben Eddard, her grandson, joined her in the kitchen.

"I've heard what a good cook you are. I'm looking forward to trying that," he told her, speaking just the tiniest bit too fast.

"Well, I hope your grandma likes it." Belle looked up with a smile. "She seems in good spirits."

"She's a tough old bird," he agreed, the affection obvious in his voice, "The doctors say she'll be back to her old self in a year or so. I bet it takes less than four months."

"And she'll run you ragged in the meantime," Belle teased, putting the kettle on.

"I don't mind it," he dismissed, "I did it to her. She raised me, you know. And she's still fun to talk to."

He meant every word he was saying, she realized. Ben truly didn't mind caring for his grandmother. While that had been the way of things in the Enchanted Forest, it seemed rare in this world, and a feeling of warm approval filled her. She joined him at the table to chat, pausing only long enough to take cups of tea in to Joseph and Mrs. Eddard who were talking in her bedroom. The elderly lady immediately shooed her back out, telling her to entertain her grandson, and Belle had the odd feeling that she was playing matchmaker.

Well, why not? As the conversation continued, she discovered that Ben liked to read, and they were in the midst of a discussion of Henry James when she noticed he was really quite handsome: tall and slender with a mop of blond curls and smiling green eyes. He wasn't at all her type, but at this point, that might be for the best. He was a nice man, and he'd be a buffer between her and Joseph, a safety net in case they fell off the tightrope they were currently walking between friendship and romance. Hopefully her curse only extended to men who shared Rumpelstiltskin's face. If it did, Ben would be perfectly safe to love.

She tried to tell herself that she wouldn't be using him, but she couldn't quite believe it.

"I'm glad you came, Belle," Ben told her, patting her hand. "I know Gram appreciates the company. And the casserole. I hope you'll come back to see her."

His meaning couldn't have been more clear considering that she'd spoken to Mrs. Eddard for less than five minutes in total. "I'd like that too," she agreed, and his hand rested on hers.

"Belle, are you-?" Joseph stopped short in the doorway, his eyes focused on their touching hands. He looked vaguely sick. After a moment, he shook himself, "Ah. I'm sorry, Ben. I didn't realize you were in here too. Is there anything else we can do while we're here?"

"No. Thank you, Father, you've been a great help." Ben rose and shook Joseph's hand as Belle took her customary place at his side.

"Please call if there's anything you need," Joseph encouraged, and Belle bid Ben a quiet farewell.

It was hot today, but Joseph was hunched over like he was cold, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, and he hadn't looked this miserable since his weeks of withdrawal. He'd been perfectly happy until he'd seen her with Ben, and his apparent jealousy was proof enough that she was doing the right thing. Even if he wanted this- wanted her- it couldn't happen. Not with his vows standing between them.

She took his arm, pressing herself against his side to offer what comfort she could. "I think she'll be fine. I'm glad. She seems like a nice woman."

"Yes, you seemed very taken with the whole family," he muttered, a depth of bitterness in his voice she'd never heard before. He turned anguished eyes on her the moment the words were out, his face crumpling. "I'm sorry, that was... I shouldn't have... Forgive me, Belle."

Pretending not to understand, she squeezed his arm gently. "There's nothing to forgive." She rested her head against his shoulder for a moment. "Let's go home."


	9. Chapter 8

His knees ached from kneeling on the cold stone, but he couldn't bring himself to get up, his prayers having not yet given him any comfort. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. My thoughts are not pure. I have coveted... I have coveted my neighbor's..." With a low cry, he raked his hands through his hair, staring up at the cross in desperation.

MacAvoy had been kneeling there for two hours, and he still couldn't bring himself to say it. It wasn't _right_. Belle was not his neighbor's wife or even his girlfriend, not yet. Belle was _his_, and Ben Eddard was trying to take her away from him. "Forgive me, Father. I do not own. I do not possess. She is not mine."

Oh, but she was. She was. Belle was his- his angel, his salvation, the woman who should be his wife. He did not covet his neighbor's wife; his neighbor coveted _his_ wife. Yet tonight Belle was in Ben's company, not his. He was taking her out to dinner, their first official date. MacAvoy had seen them off with a smile that felt more like a grimace and hurled himself to his knees in the church the moment they were gone.

If only there was a reason he could protest, some reasonable complaint he could make to prevent Belle from seeing Ben. No matter how hard he'd tried, he'd come up with nothing. Ben Eddard was a fine young man- polite, hard-working, solid and dependable. He cared for his aging grandmother, attended Mass regularly, and had never said anything in confession that would give him pause. Had Belle been his daughter or his sister, he would have given the couple his blessing without a second thought.

Belle, however, was _not_ his daughter or his sister. He was not a violent man, but when he'd opened the door for Ben and made small talk as they waited for Belle to come downstairs, he'd wanted only to smash his fist into the other man's handsome face. Ben Eddard was everything MacAvoy himself wasn't: tall, good-looking, sober, reliable, _available_. There was nothing keeping him from making Belle his wife, and the thought made him nauseous. Oh God, they'd probably want him to perform the ceremony. Surely Belle wouldn't... she _wouldn't_. She had to know that would destroy him.

"Please don't let me lose her," he begged, "Please don't take her away from me. Why did You give her to me if I wasn't supposed to love her?!" He'd never expected to feel like this, never imagined he _could_ feel like this before he'd met Belle. She was the best thing in his world, the best thing he'd ever had in his entire, miserable existence. She was the source of his strength, of his faith, of everything good in him. He could no more stop himself from loving her than he could fly.

His jealousy and his hopeless, all-consuming love twisted together in his gut, and not even Hell's fires could burn this hot. He dropped lower, pressing his fevered forehead to the cool stone steps. "Please. _Please_." He wasn't even sure what he was begging for. "I love her. Father, forgive me. _I love her_."

Loving her meant putting her needs first. She'd already saved him, now it was time for him to do right by her. All he'd wanted was to see the shadows banished from her eyes. If Ben could do that, what right did he have to object? He could not stand in her way. "Father, please give me strength."

He dragged himself off the floor, his joints creaking. Automatically, he reached inside his jacket for a bottle that hadn't been there in months and blanched when he realized what he was doing. No. Not again. He would not undo all of Belle's hard work for a few hours of numbness. Drinking would solve nothing.

He needed a distraction, but after straightening up what little was out of place in the rectory, he couldn't think of anything else to do. The television couldn't hold his attention; he'd already finished the Liturgy, and his only other option was to go stake out the restaurant where Belle had told him she and Ben would be eating. It was tempting but he was bound to get caught, and living with a stalker was probably even less attractive than living with a drunk. Instead, he took a long shower and went to bed early.

Wrapping himself around Belle's pillow, he tried to reassure himself. She might be out with Ben, but she'd be coming home to him. She'd come home and curl up next to him and tell him about her date. She'd assure him that Ben was terribly boring, and she had no interest in seeing him again, and everything would be just as it was, only she'd let him kiss her more often.

MacAvoy had to believe that, because if he let himself think about the alternative- Belle not coming home at all that night because she was spending the night in Ben's bed- he'd lose his fucking mind.

Time dragged as he stared at the ceiling, willing the front door to open, bringing his Belle home to him. Finally it did, and he closed his eyes in relief, murmuring a prayer of thanksgiving. Listening intently, he tracked her progress through the house, hearing her put her purse in the closet and turn off the light he'd left on for her before coming upstairs to her bedroom to change into her pajamas, her footsteps quiet as she passed his room. He heard the water come on in the bathroom as she washed up, and his heart stuttered in his chest when she stepped out of the bathroom, pausing in the hall.

For a long, long moment he couldn't hear her move at all, and the thought that she might not join him was chilling. Would she come to him or would she prefer to sleep in her own bed from now on? His lips moved in silent prayer.

His bedroom door creaked open, and tears stung his eyes. She'd come back to him. Belle was still his. Her bare feet padded across the floor, and cool air brushed his skin as she lifted the blanket to slide beneath it, taking her place beside him. "Welcome home," he murmured, and she jumped a little.

"I thought you were asleep!" she said breathlessly, but he was pleased to notice that she immediately moved closer to him.

As if there was any chance he could sleep while she was out with Ben. At this point, he wasn't certain he could sleep without her at all. If she ever decided to return to her own bed, he'd probably wind up following her. That wasn't likely to happen though, MacAvoy thought with a certain smug self-satisfaction. Belle had gone on a date with another man tonight, and she'd still come home to their bed. Ben could have her company at dinner as long as he had this.

He tugged her closer until her head was resting against his shoulder, exactly where she was supposed to be. "How was dinner?"

"It was nice," Belle said at once. "We went to Fellinis, and he took me to see the Transporter Bridge. It was... nice."

"Sounds nice," he agreed, not sure what else to say. He'd been hoping for an unequivocal, 'I had a rotten time and would rather have been with you,' but 'nice' wasn't exactly setting the world on fire.

"It was nice. He's nice." They seemed to be attempting to set a record for how many times they could say the word 'nice' in sixty seconds, and she realized it the same moment he did, turning her head to giggle into the side of his neck, and his eyes fluttered closed at the caress of her breath.

"Then I'm glad you had a nice time," he teased gently, turning his face to hers just as she glanced up at him. _ Lead me not into temptation._ Without a second thought he brushed his lips against hers in a caress too firm to be a platonic gesture but that demanded nothing. No matter what had happened between her and Ben, she would be falling asleep with his kiss on her lips. "Good night, Belle."

"Good night," she whispered back, her eyes wide and startled at his daring. MacAvoy was startled at himself. For all his good intentions, he could not give Belle up so easily, not without a fight, not when the best thing she could say about Ben was that he was _nice_. Not when there was a chance she could still be his.

He half-expected her to wipe her mouth off with her hand or at least pull away, but Belle simply snuggled back into him, her arm around him the same way they always slept, and his lips tingled where they had pressed against hers.

And so it went on. Ben took Belle out each Saturday, always to dinner, occasionally to a movie, and once to the theater. Every Saturday she came home to him by midnight and nestled against him in their bed as she told him about the date and allowed him his nightly kiss. It was almost enough.

Every time he kissed her it grew harder not to ask for more. He could swipe his tongue across her lips and plead for entrance to her mouth, bite at her bottom lip and demand she let him in. He could roll her under him or pull her down on top of him so their bodies could press full length against each other, and she could feel how much he needed her. He could kiss her throat, suck at her soft skin until he left a mark for everyone to see- for Ben to see- to prove that she was his. He'd never done such things, never desired to do such things, but with Belle against him, he could think about nothing else.

Instead, he kissed her chastely every night and watched with anguished eyes as she dated another man. Each Saturday when she left, he feared that this would be the night she didn't come back to him, and each night when she did, he thanked God, and every Sunday he sat in confessional and whispered his own sins once the last parishioner had departed.

"Forgive me for my greed. I want her to be mine, only mine. Forgive me for my weakness. I cannot let her go." Never again would he ask forgiveness for loving her. Love could never be a sin.

His only defense was that she'd never told him to stop. Belle had never asked him to stop kissing her, and MacAvoy swore to himself that if she ever did, he would obey. She'd never attempted to leave their bed in favor of the one in the guest room. She'd never- after that hideous, nightmarish night- mentioned leaving him.

She would some day; he knew she would. He'd been a fool to think he'd be able to keep her forever. Belle would fall in love, if not with Ben then with some other man, and she'd marry him, give him children, and he'd be left to rot, alone and forgotten. No grenade could hurt half so much as that thought. The only thing worse than the thought of his Belle married to another man, of seeing her only when she came to Mass with another man's arm around her and his child growing in her belly, was the thought of never seeing her at all, of her shutting him out completely.

He would not survive her loss.

"Why can't I have her?" he whispered desperately to the ceiling as he stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, his face haggard. He already had so much, but he was greedy, and it wasn't enough. Nothing would ever be enough. The Church would say that this was _exactly_ why priests were forbidden to marry. These passions were a distraction; his greed and jealousy were sins. But it wasn't _Belle_ who provoked such emotions; it was the frustration of being separated from her. If he could only make her his wife, they would all go away, leaving nothing but joy and love and peace in their wake.

MacAvoy fumbled with the white insert of his collar, yanking it out and undoing the first two buttons on his shirt. Like this, he looked like an ordinary man. He could _be_ an ordinary man. He could resign. He could marry Belle and give her children and create a family with her. All he had to do was forsake his calling.

He'd always known he was supposed to be a priest. Even at his lowest, when he was drunk more hours than he was sober and doubting everything, he'd defined himself as a priest. Never before had his calling felt like a burden. He had failed it, but it had never failed him. How could he give that up? He'd been called to help others, and he was finally doing just that.

And it was all thanks to his angel. Without his Belle he never would have gotten to this place. He would have floated along in a haze of depression and alcohol until he finally managed to drink himself to death. She saved him, and he loved her, and he could not let her go, but he could not have her the way he needed her.

Fucking hell, why did he have to be raised Catholic? Why couldn't he have been Anglican or Protestant or even Jewish? _Anything_ but Catholic. But he _was_ Catholic, and he could no more turn his back on the Church than he could change the color of his eyes. He believed too strongly to leave it. To turn his back on what he knew was the truth for his own selfish gain would be a far greater sin than coveting Belle. He'd been born Catholic, and he'd die a Catholic. The only question was whether he'd die a priest.

It was his calling or his Belle, and it was an impossible choice. If there was only some other way to bind her to him permanently, he could have endured not being able to marry her, but there wasn't. He could not be both a priest and Belle's husband, and without that tie he would one day lose her.

His only comfort was that Belle seemed content to stay with him for now. He didn't have to make the choice immediately. As it was he had Belle in his arms and his vocation, and it wasn't everything he wanted, but he could make it be enough. If it weren't for Ben, he'd even be happy.

For two months he endured seeing his Belle on the arm of another man when one Saturday night she came home early. He'd been sprawled on the couch mindlessly watching reruns of _The Twilight Zone_ when the front door opened at shortly after nine, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. Belle never came home before ten-thirty on date nights. He greeted her cautiously, half-expecting to see Ben follow her into the house, but she shut the door behind her as he sat up, making room for her to join him on the couch if she so desired.

She did, sitting down beside him with a curiously blank expression. Belle didn't look angry or sad or upset, just stoic. MacAvoy could usually guess at what she was thinking, but at the moment he hadn't a clue. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," she said a little too quickly. At his doubtful look she reiterated, "I'm all right."

He kept staring at her until Belle shook her head, looking down at her hands. "Ben and I broke up."

Laughing with joy would not be an appropriate response, so MacAvoy bit his tongue hard, settling for winging a quick prayer heavenward, 'Thank You. _Thank You_.' He switched the telly off, turning to her. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"There's not much to tell." She gave him a lopsided smile that faded quickly. "He really is a nice guy, just... we weren't suited."

"It was mutual then?" he asked. If Ben had broken up with her, if he'd broken her heart, MacAvoy would... he would... Well, he'd strongly disapprove.

"My idea," Belle told him, and that made him feel a hundred times better. "I think he was disappointed."

"I'm sure he was." To have Belle and lose her? He wouldn't wish that on anyone even if it was to his own benefit. "You don't sound happy. Did he say something to you?" If Ben had hurt her, that was not acceptable. He wasn't sure what he'd do about it, but he'd think of something. Belle was his to save and protect, and he would not fail in his duty to her.

"Oh, no, it's not that." She sighed, "I can't help feeling like he was my last chance."

"For?" he prompted, not following her.

"I always wanted to be a mother," she admitted with a bittersweet smile, "My husband and I, we meant to but it was never the right moment. There was always something else we had to accomplish first. We... we thought there would be time for everything, but there wasn't."

Belle's voice broke on the last words, and he pulled her against him, letting her bury her hot face against his neck as he stroked her hair, wishing he could do something to take away her pain. She went on, her voice muffled, "Then with Nick, it was on the to do list; we just never got to it. We were just talking about starting to try, when he... When I lost him."

He kissed her temple, holding her tighter as she admitted, "Both times when I lost them, I hoped so much... A fluke or an accident so I could at least have part of them, but it didn't happen."

MacAvoy's heart broke at the thought of his Belle praying each time that she'd fallen pregnant only to be disappointed. She'd be a wonderful mother, kind and loving, and the thought of her with a baby in her arms brought a smile to his face even as it tore at his soul to think of her with another man's child. Perhaps they could take a child in, foster. Maybe that would make her happy. He winced at the thought of the reaction should a priest attempt to become a foster parent. Considering the horrible things he saw in the news and his own well-known history as an alcoholic, no one would let him anywhere near a child no matter how pure his intentions were.

There had to be a way. There was always a way. If Belle wanted a child, he would figure out how to get her one. He stroked her back soothingly, urging her closer so he could comfort her, his lips against the crown of her head. His angel should want for nothing.

The revelation was swift and blinding, leaving him struggling to draw breath as all the pieces suddenly clicked into place rather like God had slapped him upside the head. MacAvoy didn't have many moments of clarity, perhaps three in a lifetime: the moment he knew he was called to be a priest, the moment he met Belle, and now this moment. Finally, everything made _sense_. This was why God sent Belle to him. This was how he was destined to help her. This was why he desired her, so they could do this thing.

He could make her happy again, and Belle would be forever his, the two of them bound eternally through their child. It would solve _everything_. "Ben wasn't your last chance," he assured her, rubbing his cheek against her hair.

"I know, I know," she sighed, squirming into a more comfortable position against him. "There's lots of fish in the sea. I'm not getting any younger though. And I'm not looking to fall in love, not again. I just want someone nice."

Ben had been nice, and she'd rejected him anyway. MacAvoy shouldn't have felt so much triumph at the thought. "Belle," he tugged gently on her curls, trying to get her to lift her head, feeling flustered when her blue eyes met his, "That's not... I mean... _Me_, Belle. I meant me."

He could pinpoint the exact moment she realized what he was saying, and he said a silent prayer of thanks when horror didn't dawn in her eyes, just surprise and a bit of confusion. "Baby?" she breathed, and he couldn't think of anything else to say. He just watched her, swallowing hard as he willed her to agree.

They hung frozen in that moment until Belle gathered her composure. "I don't understand. What about your vows?"

Two kisses and a rather fumbling hand-job was the extent of his sexual experience. No one had laid a hand on him since he was in sixth year, and he'd never felt the lack. Out of everything the priesthood required of him, his vow of celibacy hadn't even been a blip on his radar until Belle. Since then MacAvoy had spent countless hours on his knees trying to find peace with his feelings for her, and he'd found at least a few answers. Lust was a sin, but what he felt for her wasn't lust. What he wanted from Belle was so much more than that. Physical, yes, but spiritual and emotional too. He wanted to be close to his angel, to belong to her in all ways. It wasn't lust. It was love. Love could never be a sin.

He took her hands in his, trying to make her understand. "It wouldn't be a sin, Belle. God brought us together. We're _meant_ to be together." Perhaps he was rationalizing. Perhaps Satan had corrupted him so thoroughly that he couldn't recognize sin even when he was tempting another into it. It was possible; MacAvoy had no faith in his own strength, but he did believe in Belle. His angel was pure and good. Anything she permitted had to be pure and good too. Anything he did with her was blessed.

Clinging to her hands, he lifted them to his mouth, kissing each one as he prayed that she would agree.


	10. Chapter 9

_Sorry about the delay! Real life got in the way a bit. I'm hopeful that the next chapters will be coming out in a more timely manner. And a big THANK YOU to all my wonderful reviewers! I never expected this story to gain such a following, and I love how passionate you all are about Joseph and his Belle._

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She couldn't possibly be understanding him correctly. Joseph couldn't be suggesting that they have a child together, but as he clung to her hands, his eyes wide with hope, there was no other possible explanation.

"We're meant to be together," he pleaded, and her stomach lurched. What had she _done_? Despite all evidence to the contrary, she'd been assuring herself for months that he felt nothing more for her than friendship, and even if he did, he wouldn't act on those feelings. He couldn't. _They_ couldn't. He was a priest.

Guiltily, Belle admitted to herself that the idea held appeal. A child with her closest friend, a man she held so much affection for even if they had to remain platonic, would be a dream come true. When that man looked so much like both of her lost loves, it seemed perfect, like it truly was meant to be as Joseph had said.

After two months of dating Ben she'd had to end it, knowing she was using him shamelessly. He was a good man, a kind man, and he deserved more than a woman who was with him solely to keep herself from falling in love with someone else. She was being unfair to him and hurting Joseph, and Belle was thoroughly ashamed of herself. She should have loved him; she just couldn't, and she had no one to blame but herself. Some things weren't meant to be, and she had to accept that. Motherhood simply wasn't in the cards for her; no agency would adopt a baby out to a woman with her documented history of mental illness, and she seemed destined to love only men who she couldn't be with.

Now Joseph was offering her a chance she'd thought lost, but she couldn't bring herself to accept his generous offer. He couldn't possibly have thought this through. "Baby, I can't ask you to break your vows for me," she said regretfully, hating herself for how reluctant she was to say no, but by saying yes she'd be using him as much as she'd used Ben. This couldn't happen for so many reasons.

"It wouldn't be a sin," he protested, his grip on her hands tightening. "It would be... a gift. God brought us together so I could help you. I can help you, Belle."

His assessment of their relationship startled her. She'd assumed that whatever had brought them together- fate or his god or Nick or chance- had intended _her_ to help _him_. Belle wasn't sure how comfortable she was with the idea of the reverse. Even so, she was tempted. It would be a cozy life, just the two of them and their child. Joseph would be wonderful with a baby. He'd be a marvelous father, so gentle and kind. Any child would be lucky to have him. If only he wasn't a priest.

She sighed as she recast the scenario the way others would see it: the priest, his harlot, and their illegitimate child. He'd be ruined if she fell pregnant. She would undo every bit of hard work he'd put into reclaiming his life, and even if by some miracle no one suspected him of fathering her child, there was still her curse to consider. They'd be happy until she got him killed, and that was not a risk she was willing to take. It was bad enough that she'd stayed this long.

"If we do this, I'll have to leave Middlesbrough. You know that, don't you?" she asked gently, and he shook his head, his eyes pained,

"No, you won't. We have enough room. We can put the baby in your room, and you can move your things into mine. We won't need much- a crib, a rocking chair..." His grin on her hands tightened almost painfully.

Using their clasped hands, Belle pulled him in for a kiss on the cheek. "Oh baby, that's not what I mean, and you know it. What will people say if I get pregnant while I'm living with you? It won't take much imagination to figure out what happened."

Joseph shook his head, a stubborn set to his mouth. "I don't care what they think. All that matters to me is that you're happy. I want to make you happy. _Please_ let me."

"I won't be happy if I ruin you," she sighed. From what she knew of his church, they wouldn't be willing to turn a blind eye even if his parishioners didn't care. "What would happen if Rome found out?"

"We'd be separated," he admitted, his face mutinous, "I'd be disciplined, transferred."

Belle nodded. "This is your life, your _calling_. I won't let you risk that for me." Gently she pulled her hands out of his grasp and patted his leg. It had been a kind offer, but it just wouldn't work.

Joseph looked like he was on the verge of tears, "Belle..." He swallowed hard, rallying, "Would a baby make you happy?"

For the life of her, she wasn't sure how to answer that. For his peace of mind, she should say no, but motherhood was a dream she'd all but given up on, and it was suddenly within her grasp. A child of her own, a baby to love and care for and teach, what wouldn't she give for that opportunity? As long as she left Middlesbrough, it would be fine. She'd have to give up Joseph, but she couldn't stay with him forever, not if she wanted him to be safe. This way she'd always have part of him, the way she didn't have Rumpelstiltskin or Nick. "Yes. It would."

He took her hands back and lifted them to his mouth to softly kiss her fingers, keeping hold of them as he said, "Then I think we should do it."

"Even though I'll have to leave?" she asked in surprise. The last thing she'd expected was for Joseph to accept that idea so easily.

Although he looked miserable, he nodded. "You'll leave me anyway though, won't you? At least this way I can give you something. You've already given me so much."

Joseph sounded so resigned that it brought tears to her eyes, and she wondered how long he'd been living with the knowledge that she would one day have to leave him for his own protection. He hadn't said anything since the day she brought it up herself and allowed him to persuade her otherwise. Perhaps this was for the best; it gave her a reason for leaving that he couldn't protest, and maybe having her would get her out of his system. He'd see she was no more special than any other woman, certainly not the angel he called her.

"All right," she whispered, feeling like she should be saying something more. What they were discussing was so huge that it seemed there should be more ceremony involved.

"Thank you," he breathed, gazing down at their clasped hands. "Will you... you won't go too far, will you? You'll still let me see you? And the baby?"

They were out of their minds, Belle realized. This wasn't like buying a dog; it would bind them together permanently. The baby would be Joseph's as much as hers, and she'd be taking it away from its father. "Of course," she whispered, barely able to force the words out of her throat. "Do you want it to know? That you're its father? We'll have to keep it a secret from everyone else."

He nodded instantly, his eyes wide with hope. "If... if you don't mind." He looked relieved when she agreed. "I can change my schedule at the church so I can get away more often. So I can come see you. I guess you can't really come here."

"Not at first," she agreed. Turning up in Middlesbrough with a newborn in her arms scant months after she'd left would hardly be subtle. For the first few years, Joseph would have to come to her, just long enough to give people a chance to forget.

He'd visit her and leave again, returning to his lonely home, and Belle's heart ached at the thought. She'd miss him desperately, worry for him once she was no longer a daily part of his life. Having a family would do wonders for Joseph, get him out of his head more, and it couldn't happen, not properly. Her only hope was that he wouldn't backslide once she was gone. "Joseph, are you sure you want to do this?"

"I can't have what I want. Giving you your dream is enough for me," he told her, and the look on his face made her heart skip a beat. How long had it been since someone looked at her like that? How long had it been since someone looked at her as if the sun rose and set within her? After she'd lost Nick, Belle had never expected to see that look turned on her again, and seeing it on Joseph's face filled her with an agonizing combination of delight and horror.

He loved her. She could almost feel her curse sniffing at him. He loved her, and she could so very easily love him, and that was going to get him killed one day.

Desperately, Belle hoped she'd fall pregnant quickly. At thirty-six, her chances were slimming every month, and the longer she stayed, the more attached she'd grow to Joseph. They'd been together for four months, and already the thought of being without him _hurt_. If she became his lover, it would be all but impossible to leave him, and she'd be painting a target on his back.

She'd give it a year, and after that she'd leave no matter what, Belle promised herself. Any longer and she'd stay forever, and she could not have another death on her conscience. She couldn't murder another man who she loved. She'd lost far too much already.

"Do you...do you want to start tonight?" he asked hesitantly.

Part of her wanted to just throw herself into his arms and let him make her forget everything- forget about her losses, her curse, the fact that they couldn't really be together- and if she did that, she'd lose herself entirely. She'd fall so hard that she'd never get herself back out, and that couldn't happen. Somehow she needed to find some distance before they started so she could remember why they were doing this. "Not yet," she answered, and he looked equal parts disappointed and relieved, which interested her, "Give me a little while to get used to the idea? Maybe do some research?"

Actually _trying_ to get pregnant would be a new experience for her. She and Rumpelstiltskin had the luxury of his magic and Storybrooke's chemist to prevent conception, but she and Nick hadn't been so lucky. She'd been mortified when she discovered him charting her cycle on the wall in his corridor, but it had been effective. Destiny was no place for a baby.

They should confine their efforts to the times she was most likely to be fertile, Belle decided. Otherwise, things were likely to get out of hand. They had to remember that this was about the baby and not about them. She couldn't afford to fall any harder for Joseph, nor would it be fair for him to get any more attached to her.

Joseph looked vaguely disquieted, and she wondered if he was starting to have second thoughts. Before she could ask, he pulled her against him so her head was resting on his chest with his arms around her. "You looked like you needed a hug," he murmured into her hair, and she snuggled into him, the warmth of his embrace a tremendous comfort to her frayed nerves. What they were getting ready to do was huge, but in his arms Belle found herself believing it would work out.

While he was at the church the following day, Belle turned her attention to his ancient computer and did some research. Learning that she was at her most fertile six days a month and not the three she'd thought came as a surprise. She and Nick had been playing with fire while they were on Destiny, and neither of them had realized it. She hoped that didn't bode ill for what she and Joseph were going to attempt.

There were ways they could do this without sex, she discovered over the course of the morning. Maybe it would be better to completely remove that emotional component. However there'd be no way to keep things quiet if they involved a laboratory, and her spirit rebelled at the idea of having their child's conception be so clinical. Even this many years on, Belle still trembled whenever she had to enter a hospital.

Still it was only fair to broach the idea, and she laughed at the face Joseph pulled in response. "I'm sorry," he apologized immediately, "I will if you want to, but..." He flapped his hands helplessly, and she laughed all the harder.

"I didn't want to either. I just thought you should know your options," she told him, and he looked relieved.

"Babies should be made with love," he said softly, not quite meeting her eyes, and Belle's heart fluttered. They had to be careful about this, so very careful, or it would all fall apart.

Although he didn't look happy about it, Joseph agreed to her plan to make love only during those six days each month when she was most likely to be fertile, and they went on much as they had before as they waited out the week before that window opened.

Belle had been concerned they'd be awkward around each other now that they'd made this decision, but her worries had been in vain. With Ben out of the picture, Joseph seemed happier than he'd been in months, and his mood influenced hers. Knowing what they were soon going to be doing, it seemed natural to let him draw her into his lap as they watched television or read together, to permit him to embrace her from behind while she was cooking, propping his chin on her shoulder as she explained what she was doing, to return his nightly kiss with enthusiasm. It was still platonic, if only just, but Belle had forgotten just how much her body craved this kind of affectionate touch.

The few barriers that had existed between them were collapsing, and it was with some effort that Belle kept herself from reaching for him in public when he looked nervous or upset. She wanted his hand in hers, the freedom to put her arms around him, and if she didn't get it together, she was going to ruin everything before they even started. It just felt so _right_ to be with him, like Joseph was a missing piece of herself, that it was hard to remember that he wasn't really hers at all.

The week passed at a crawl, yet before she knew it the first of their six days was upon them. They hadn't spoken of their plans- to do so would have made it far too real- but Belle had imagined spending the day together once Joseph had dispatched his duties at the church, easing into things gently. It had been well over a year since she'd been intimate with anyone, and she couldn't guess how long it had been for him.

Instead of the quiet day she'd had in mind, all hell broke loose. One parishioner suffered a kitchen fire, and while she was getting a few days' worth of food together, they got a call that another had suffered a heart attack. The heart attack turned out to be a simple bout of angina, but by the time Joseph got back from the hospital, the phone was already ringing requesting their help in a domestic dispute, and Belle was ready to tear her hair out.

They didn't make it home until after ten, and without a word, they both collapsed onto the sofa, staring blankly up at the ceiling. The universe, it seemed, was trying to tell them something. Belle could take a hint.

Joseph's hand found hers on the cushion, his fingers entwining with hers. "Maybe this is better?" he suggested, and Belle closed her eyes. She should have been pleased he'd reached the same conclusion that she had without her having to call it off. She didn't feel pleased though. Instead it hurt to hear him admit that it was for the best that they stop this. He squeezed her hand. "No time to get nervous."

Belle rolled her head to the side to find him already looking at her, his eyes warm. "What?"

"I've been worrying about this all week," he admitted, a flush of color staining his cheekbones. "Today kept my mind off things."

"Worried? Why?" she asked, wondering if she was interpreting him correctly. Joseph seemed to have every intention of proceeding with their plans.

He adjusted his grip on her hand so he could rub his calloused thumb over the inside of her wrist, stroking her pulse point hypnotically as he confessed, "I don't want to disappoint you." A nervous smile flitted across his face, "I hope you don't mind leading. I'll try to learn fast."

Realization flooded Belle's mind, leaving her short of breath. How had she not seen this coming? For her it had been over a year. For Joseph... "You've never done this." It wasn't quite a question.

He gave a small shrug. "Priest."

"Are you _sure_ you want this?" she pleaded. Having him break his vows for her was bad enough. Until now he'd been chaste. Could she really take that away from him?

Joseph lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing her fingers and turning her hand to press his lips to the inside of her wrist. "I want to give you what you want. If that means I get to be close to you..." he trailed off, and Belle could feel his hot breath against her pulse point as he struggled for control, his voice breaking, "You're my angel. Any touch, any contact you'll grant me is a blessing."

"Baby..." she murmured, unspeakably touched by his words.

"Belle, I love you," he blurted, his eyes anguished, and she wondered if he could feel how fast her heart was beating. He'd never outright said it before, and she shivered despite the warmth that was filling her. "I _love_ you. I'd marry you tonight if I could. I want forever with you. If this is all I can have... yes, I'm sure."

Tears spilled down her face, and with a muffled oath, he pulled her close, gentle fingers brushing away the salty droplets before he leaned closer and started kissing them away. It wasn't fair. If only he wasn't a priest. If only she wasn't cursed. If only they were free to be together. She wasn't falling anymore; she'd fallen. Somehow, despite all her efforts not to, Belle had fallen in love with Joseph.

They couldn't have forever, but they did have this. They would have to make this be enough. She pulled away from him, and he flinched, looking like he expected her to slap him. Instead, she leaned close, brushing her lips against his. "Come on, baby. Let's go upstairs."


	11. Chapter 10

_Please note that with this chapter, the rating goes up to M. Like we didn't all see that one coming. Also, there is a brief reference to past non-con in this chapter. Consider yourselves warned._

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Joseph followed Belle up the stairs, his hand held tightly in hers which did wonders for his nerves. They were in this together. As long as Belle was touching him, he'd be fine. Halfway up the stairs, she paused, turning to wrap her arms around his shoulders. He was a step below her which meant he had to look up to meet her eyes, and that felt strangely right. "If you ever want to stop..." she prompted, and he had to bite his tongue to suppress an inappropriate laugh. The mere thought that he might want to stop touching Belle was ridiculous. She'd want to stop long before he did.

He hugged her back to reassure her, sighing when she released him. For all that they couldn't continue this on the stairs, it was always difficult to let go of Belle. Joseph would spend his life in her arms if he could. He would take anything she was willing to give him and consider himself the most fortunate of men. He couldn't make her his wife, but he could give her the child she longed for, and he'd still be able to see her.

More than anything, he wanted to make Belle happy. Every day his angel was saving him, and she deserved the best he could give her. He wanted to _please_ her, to have her remember their child's conception fondly. They entered his bedroom together, and although they'd spent every night of the last four months curled up together, this was completely new and a bit terrifying.

One covert internet search while Belle was out getting groceries had yielded a variety of sickening pictures and precious little useful information. He'd been too busy looking over his shoulder- afraid she'd come home early and see what he was doing- to succeed in his quest to learn what would please her. The mechanics he knew in theory, but his only practical experience had been when he was seventeen and his friend's sister had shoved him against a wall and kissed him before attacking his flies. She'd tugged roughly until he came in her hand before kissing him again, and he'd fled the house like he'd been set on fire, heading straight for confession. He'd fasted for a day and a night, prayed the rosary until his lips were chapped, showered until the hot water ran out, and never went back to that house.

Those weren't memories that had any place in their bed. He wanted Belle to know only pleasure and joy at his touch, not the humiliation he'd felt that day. If only he knew what he was doing. Belle deserved a lover who knew exactly how to touch her, how to make her moan and shiver with pleasure. Joseph was certain that her husband and Nick both had been experts at this, and now all she had was him and his clumsy hands.

She stepped into his arms, and he pulled her close, feeling her trembling. "My angel," he murmured in her ear, hoping she wasn't frightened. She had to know that he'd die before he hurt her or allowed her to come to any harm. "My precious Belle, I love you so much." It felt so good to finally be able to say it.

She made a smothered, gasping noise against his collar, and he winced, hoping he hadn't upset her, when she slid her fingers into his hair to pull him down for a kiss. This, at least, was something familiar. Gentle, he had to be slow and gentle and tender, nothing rough, nothing that would frighten her or hurt her.

He sucked on her lower lip, then her upper one, his heart doubling its tempo when he realized that this time he didn't have to stop. This wasn't one of their chaste nightly kisses where he had to release her and let her sleep. This time he could kiss her for as long as he wanted, and the thought made him moan. Belle took advantage of his parted lips to slip her tongue into his mouth, and he all but crushed her against him as she started to slowly explore. This was new and wholly wonderful; she'd permitted him to kiss her like this the night she'd nearly left, but this was the first time she'd returned the favor, and he couldn't get over how that intimate touch felt. Hesitantly, he stroked his tongue against hers, inviting her deeper, wanting to give her everything he was, everything he had that was good.

Already he was rock-hard against her belly, and Belle had to feel it, plastered against him the way that she was. Embarrassed, he tried to step back just a little, just enough to keep her from feeling his body's crude demand, but she didn't let him shy away. Instead she hugged him tighter as she played with his hair, petting him in a way he thought was meant to soothe but did just the opposite, sending shivers racing down his spine. Belle was in his arms and kissing him, and she was going to let him make love to her, and he wasn't going to survive this experience.

He was jittery and on edge, feeling like his bones were quivering. He'd had vague, undefined urges before, and he'd desired Belle for months, but nothing had ever felt like this. The sheer intensity of the _wanting_ left him feeling dizzy and slightly sick. Greedily, he clutched her closer, needing to feel every bit of her wrapped around every bit of him before he fell apart.

Suddenly Belle pulled away, and he made a raw, desperate sound of protest, his traitorous hands struggling to keep her close. "Hush, baby," she breathed, cradling his face in her hands to brush a sweet kiss against his lips, "Just relax. Breathe for me."

His breath was hot and ragged against her face as he rested his forehead against hers, struggling for some measure of control. With deft fingers, Belle tugged his collar insert loose and tucked it into his jacket pocket as she undid the first few buttons on his shirt, running her hand over his throat. "That's right, baby. Just breathe."

"Belle, please," he whispered, not sure what he was begging for, only knowing he would get down on his knees and plead for her touch, _any_ touch. His angel deserved so much better than him. One kiss had all but destroyed his self-control, and the things he was feeling weren't right. He should want to tenderly stroke his angel, to press gentle kisses to every inch of her. Instead, he was shaking with the need to simply grab her, to suck and bite at her soft skin, to bury himself in her, anything to appease the soul-deep _need_.

If he did that, he'd hurt her, and the thought of Belle coming to harm at his hands cooled his ardor more effectively than being doused with cold water. His angel trusted him to be gentle with her, and he could not betray her. Bad enough that he was a clumsy novice, but to be rough with her? Never. He would not hurt her; he just had to control himself.

"You okay?" she asked softly, "We don't have to-"

He stopped her mouth with a kiss, cutting off the words he didn't want to hear. For all that Belle thought she was reassuring him, he died a little inside each time she suggested stopping. She'd promised herself to him, and he could no longer live without his angel. This time it was his turn to explore her mouth, and she was even sweeter than he remembered. His angel was the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted, and he knew he'd never stop craving her. She was more intoxicating than any whiskey, and every sip of her sweetness healed his soul.

"Let's lie down," she prompted, and that was the best idea he'd ever heard. He shucked off his jacket, draping it neatly over a chair, and watched in fascination as Belle sat down to untie her sandals. It was ridiculous; she slept in bed beside him every night. He'd seen her barefoot or in her pajamas a thousand times, but he'd never watched her disrobe before, and nothing had ever been as alluring.

Before she could untie her other sandal, he dropped to his knees before her and took over the task himself. With shaking fingers he untied the bow, carefully drawing the laces loose so he could slip it from her foot. Belle's feet were tiny- he'd never noticed that before- and a wave of protectiveness engulfed him. God had given her to him to cherish, and he would take such good care of her for as long as she'd allow him.

Bending his head, Joseph pressed a tender kiss to the top of her foot, dragging his mouth lower until he reached her toes, each nail painted with sparkly gold lacquer, and he couldn't resist the urge to kiss each one as she giggled softly. The sound was happy, not mocking, and it made the knot in his stomach loosen a little. He had no water with which to wash his angel's feet, so he anointed her with his lips instead, tracing kisses along her instep and wreathing her dainty ankle.

As he repeated the process with her other foot, Belle slid her fingers into his hair, stroking him lovingly, and his breath caught. He'd imagined this moment the second day he'd known her: him kneeling at his angel's feet with her hands in his hair as she blessed him, her light pushing away his darkness. He'd never dreamed it would feel like this.

"My sweet baby," Belle crooned, and he whimpered at the sheer affection in her voice, "I'm so glad I met you."

With a strangled sob, he buried his face in her lap, his arms sliding around her waist as he held onto her as tightly as he could. His angel was everything pure and good in the world, and she was glad for _him_, unworthy as he was. She curled around him, resting her cheek against his hair as she hugged his shoulders, and he simply breathed her in, content to kneel at her feet and worship her.

The Father had forbidden the worship of idols, but Belle was a gift from Him, and therefore it was only appropriate to worship her. He would have remained there all night if she'd wished it, but Belle sat up after a moment, gently tugging him up to sit on the bed beside her. "Come here, baby."

He obeyed her- he could do nothing else- but when she moved to slide off the bed, he caught her elbow, keeping her where she was. His angel should kneel to no one, certainly not to him. His place was at her feet, not hers at his. Instead he leaned down and quickly unlaced his shoes, toeing them off and ridding himself of his socks, the worn carpet tickling his bare feet.

"Don't like your feet touched?" Belle guessed once he'd finished his self-appointed task, and he bit his lip, wondering how to answer that. Joseph couldn't imagine there was any part of his body that wouldn't like being touched by Belle, just as there was no part of her that he wasn't eager to touch.

"You shouldn't have to," he finally managed, and she nodded her understanding as she moved closer to him, their legs touching.

"It's not about having to; it's about wanting to," she explained, taking his hand and drawing abstract little pictures on his palm with the tip of her index finger. "Do you like touching me?"

The question made him shiver. "Oh yes," he rasped, his voice embarrassingly husky. 'Like' didn't begin to cover it. Nothing in his life had ever given him more joy and peace than touching Belle.

She dimpled, brushing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before she whispered a secret in his ear, "I like touching you too."

Liked touching him. His angel liked touching him. She wasn't taking pity on him or tolerating this for the sake of the child she wanted; she _liked_ touching him. He groaned, the sound shockingly loud in the quiet room, and all but pulled her into his lap as he buried his face against the curve of her throat, clutching her against him.

Belle came the rest of the way herself, settling herself in his lap as she rubbed his back in long, soothing strokes, and he'd almost regained control of himself when she shifted just a little, her thigh suddenly pressing against his aching cock, and Joseph nearly bit through his lip to smother the desperate cry that wanted to emerge, the resulting noise making him sound like an animal caught in a trap.

"I'm sorry," Belle apologized at once, moving to sit beside him once more. "Did I hurt you?"

He laughed breathlessly at the question, unable to lift his head from her shoulder. It was easier to make his confession if he didn't have to look in her eyes while he did. "Felt good. _Too_ good." If his greatest fear was hurting Belle, that was his second. Joseph had never been so aroused in his life, and if he didn't get control of himself, this would be over before they'd even really started. He'd disappoint Belle and disgrace himself, and he'd never manage to get her pregnant if he came before he even managed to get her clothes off.

"It's supposed to feel good," she chided gently, pressing a kiss to his temple. "It's okay, baby. Really it is. Just try to relax."

She eased him away from her, and that was not helping to calm him, but her sweet smile did. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, feeling wretched. His angel was offering herself to him, and he was making a mess of everything as he always did.

Cradling his face in her hands, she leaned closer. "Stop that," she murmured against his lips before closing the distance between them for a slow, drugging kiss. "You're not doing anything wrong," she assured him when it ended.

He might not be doing anything wrong, but he wasn't doing much right either. Before he could attempt to remedy that, Belle pressed her hands against his chest, her fingertips caressing his buttons. "Can I take this off?"

His immediate nod was so enthusiastic that his neck twinged, and she beamed, her warm smile comforting him as deft fingers undid his buttons and pulled the shirt loose from his waistband. His face heated as she pushed the fabric open, baring his chest to her gaze, and he hoped she wouldn't be too disappointed. They'd spent so much time snuggled together that she must have already known that he was a scrawny little thing. Still, surely she'd hoped for better.

Joseph was so lost in his own doubts that the feel of Belle's fingers combing down his chest came as a complete surprise. Whimpering at the sensation, he jerked his head up to look at her, and she brushed a kiss across his lips. "There you are."

Holding his gaze, she leaned down and pressed her lips to his chest right over his pounding heart. "Lovely. Lie back, baby."

At her coaxing, he shrugged the shirt off and lay back across the bed, his angel beside him. Belle propped herself up on one elbow, leaning over him as she caressed his chest with her free hand, soft little touches that soothed as much as aroused. "Deep breaths," she reminded him, and he inhaled, realizing he'd forgotten to breathe in the wonder of having his angel's fingers against his bare skin, his lips moving in a silent prayer of thanksgiving.

Belle's eyes crinkled with a warm smile as she traced one finger around his nipple, and he gasped as heat flooded him, the sensation traveling straight to his cock. Delicately, she trailed her fingernail over the tight bud, and he forgot how to breathe again as the muscles in his back contracted, his hips rocking of their own volition. "That's it. That's right," she crooned, her voice tender, "There's nothing to be nervous about. This is natural. You know what to do."

There was heat and tension, and even the times he'd taken himself in hand hadn't felt like this. His body seemed to have a mind of its own, and he watched his hand reach up to slide into Belle's hair and pull her down for a demanding kiss, his tongue plundering her mouth. He was hungry for her, starving in a way he'd never felt before, and her mouth and her warm weight resting on his chest wasn't quite enough to satisfy him.

Her dress was a barrier when he wanted nothing between them, and he caught a handful of her skirt, tugging. "Please."

"Yes," she whispered against his lips, and he whimpered when she pulled herself out of his arms to turn her back on him, her hands sweeping her hair out of the way. Swallowing hard, he sat up, relieved that she couldn't see the way his hands were shaking as he looked at the back of her dress, searching for a way to get her out of it.

Near the top he finally spotted a nearly-hidden zipper, and it took two tries for him to grasp the tiny tab. Despite everything they'd already done, despite what they'd agreed, Joseph still expected her to jerk away from him, to pull away and tell him it was all a mistake and she'd changed her mind. Slowly, he drew the zipper down, careful not to catch her hair, as he waited for her to do just that. Instead, Belle sighed as the back of her dress gaped open, giving him a glimpse of her bare skin, and the zipper could go no lower.

Something was still holding the top of her dress together, and he frowned, befuddled. Leaning closer until his nose was practically pressed against her, he examined the area, feeling triumphant when he found and released the tiny clasp, and the back of her dress parted like the Red Sea, baring her to him.

"Take it off me," Belle murmured, and he eased it down, relieved when she pulled her arms free and lifted her hips to help him slide it off, leaving his angel sitting on their bed clad only in her lacy underthings.

There was so much of Belle's skin on display, and if he allowed himself to look- really look- he'd lose his mind. Instead, Joseph occupied himself with her blue sundress, smoothing the linen fabric between his hands so it wouldn't wrinkle as he tried to figure out what to do with it. It was too pretty to be cast to the floor like his shirt, so he stood up, leaving Belle briefly as he retrieved a hanger from the closet and hung it up.

When he turned back around, he wasn't sure what to make of the expression on her face. Her smile was tremulous, her eyes shining just a bit too brightly, and he was instantly afraid that he'd done something wrong. "Belle?"

She shook her head and held her arms out to him, and he gathered her close, too worried about her to really notice the amount of bare skin suddenly available to him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, baby," she breathed against his neck, following the words with a tender kiss, "You're just... perfect."

His heart, which he was willing to swear had stopped during her pause, gave a lurch. He shook his head, rubbing his cheek against her hair, "That's you, angel. You're the perfect one."

Truer words had never been spoken. God must have taken special pains when He created Belle, and she was perfection, a living, breathing avatar of all that was good and pure in the universe. Joseph wasn't worthy to breathe the same air that she did, but somehow this angel was in his arms.

She snuggled closer, and they clung to each other for long moments as he traced his hand over her back, hoping to reassure her. When she tilted her head back to look at him, his mouth found hers, their tongues stroking against each other, and he'd had no idea kissing could feel like this. Somehow he was no longer nervous. This was right, the best thing he'd ever done, and as long as Belle was with him all would be well.

Eventually they had to break apart to catch their breath, and she played with the hair at the back of his neck. "What do you want, baby?" she asked softly, her eyes warm with affection. "We can do anything you want."

His mouth went dry at her offer, and there were so many things he wanted to do. He wanted to touch every inch of his angel's body, to kiss her and caress her and make her moan with pleasure. Joseph didn't know where to start.

There was one thing he'd wanted to do since the second day he'd known her, and he wasn't sure it was what she'd meant, but she had said _anything_ he wanted. "Lie on your stomach?"

She didn't even blink at the request, just kissed him quickly and pulled out of his embrace to arrange herself comfortably on her stomach, her head resting on her hands.

For a moment he could do nothing but look at her, laid out before him like an offering, the best the world had to give. He didn't deserve to touch her, had no right to lay his hands on her. No one could ever be good enough for his angel, but she was with him, and all he could do was try to be worthy of her. He settled beside her, tracing her scars first with his eyes, then with his fingers, and he swallowed hard as he leaned down to finally do what he'd wanted to the first time he saw them.

With gentle lips, he trailed kisses over each long, angry line, bathing her past wounds with his love for her, wishing he had the power to heal them. There was nothing Joseph wouldn't give to erase them, to take away all the pain she'd suffered, nothing he wouldn't do to spare her any more. His angel should know only joy and happiness, and he'd gladly dedicate his life to making sure she had just that.

He belonged to her- utterly, eternally- and nothing would ever change that. Come what may, he was _hers_. Beneath him, Belle was trembling, and he reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together, craving the closeness.

As he kissed each scar, pieces of the wedding ceremony floated through his mind, and his lips moved silently against her skin as he made the vows he could never speak to her, 'I, Joseph take you, Belle for my wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.' He was her husband in all ways but one, and he would honor that vow until his dying breath. His only hope was that she'd be with him.

Belle rolled over to look up at him, and although her face was tear-stained, her eyes were peaceful. Lifting their clasped hands to his mouth he kissed her fingers, wishing he had the right to give her a ring to pledge his troth. She smiled, returning the gesture, and he wondered if she was thinking the same thing he was. This was their wedding, the only ceremony they could have, but it was no less binding for all that.

He didn't quite dare to ask, his voice stolen by the fear that his angel might not consider him her husband the way that he thought of her as his wife. Instead, he was almost relieved when she tugged him down to her, breaking their eye contact and the charged moment as she traced the fresh scar on his face with her lips. Already it was little more than a thin line that time might well fade to nothing. Joseph hoped it would remain. It was his memento of their first kiss, and he wanted to hang onto any piece of Belle he could.

He needed her mouth again, and she parted her lips for him as their tongues slid against each other. Greedily, he drank her down, her sweetness quenching a soul-deep thirst. Still, it wasn't enough. He needed to be closer to his angel. More than anything he wanted to blanket her with his body, to join their hands and press himself against every inch of her, but he wasn't sure she wanted that. Instead, he lay down beside her, relieved when she immediately rolled into his arms, caressing his calf with her bare foot through his trousers.

Suddenly Joseph realized just how much of Belle's skin he was touching, one hand splayed against her back to hold her to him while his other hand found its way to her thigh, resting there hesitantly, half-expecting her to slap him away. Belle did nothing of the kind, instead snuggling even closer, and he groaned into her mouth as her breasts pressed against his chest. Only a few bits of lace kept him from feeling all of her, and his blood was suddenly boiling in his veins. He needed _more_.

Without thinking about it he released her, his hands going to his belt, and her clever fingers joined his, the pair of them working together to undo the buckle. He was shaking, but she was steady as she gently brushed his hands aside to unfasten his flies, one hand slipping inside to stroke him through his boxers.

"_Fuck_," he snarled at the touch, his entire body surging against her, straining to be closer, closer, _closer_ to his angel. The desire crested, white-hot, and he pushed her onto her back, covering her with himself as he attacked her neck with his mouth, starving for any bit of her he could have. He was throbbing against her belly as he rubbed himself against her, one hand diving into her hair to yank her head back, baring her throat to him and he grazed his teeth over her delicate skin with a growl, hearing her cry out.

"Fuck!" he gasped again, wrenching himself away from her. What was he _doing_? He was losing control, being rough, hurting her, and he rolled onto his back, covering his face with his shaking hands, too ashamed to face her. "I'm sorry, Belle. I'm sorry."

Instantly, her warm body was pressed against his side, her hands tugging at his wrists. "What's wrong? Why are you sorry?"

He kept his hands where they were, his voice muffled as he struggled to find the words to apologize for forcing himself on her so crudely. "I didn't mean to... I lost control... I'm _sorry_, angel."

"Baby..." she crooned, drawing him back into the loving circle of her arms. "You didn't do _anything_ wrong. You didn't lose control. You didn't hurt me."

At that he dared to look up at her, searching her face for any sign that she was seeking to spare his feelings. When he found none, he pressed, "I didn't hurt you? I wasn't too rough?"

Belle rubbed her nose against his. "Oh baby, I don't think you could be too rough if you tried. I liked it. I liked feeling how much you want me."

Slowly he started to relax, trusting his angel to tell him the truth. There was something wrong with what she'd said though, and it took him a moment to put his finger on it. "I don't want you."

At her look of shocked hurt, he hastened to explain, cursing his clumsy words. "No! That's not... I don't _want_ you, Belle. I _need_ you."

That made her smile again, her expression just slightly reproachful, and he kissed her to apologize. "I love you," he whispered as their lips parted, and it didn't even matter that she didn't say it back if she was going to look at him with such warmth, "My angel. My life."

My wife, he added silently, wishing he could say it aloud, wishing it was true in the eyes of the world instead of just in his own and God's eyes. "Sweet baby," she murmured, her hand caressing the side of his face, "My Joseph."

Truer words had never been spoken, and he nodded, leaning into another kiss as her hands went to his unfastened trousers, and he helped her get them off, leaving him just in his boxers, her smooth legs twining with his. They were plastered together, but he could still feel distance between them, and it was starting to hurt. Would he never be able to get close enough to his angel?

The noise of despair that came from the back of his throat was wordless, but Belle seemed to understand. "It's okay," she promised, brushing another sweet kiss to his lips, "You can have what you need. You can have _everything_."

Without another word, she guided his hand to rest between her breasts, and he groaned, her heat tearing at his sanity even though he was barely touching her. "Go ahead, baby," she encouraged him, "Take it off."

Just the thought that she was going to allow him to see her sent a wave of desire pouring through him, his body burning from the inside out. She was looking at him expectantly, her fingers tracing patterns on his collarbone, and he suddenly realized that she was waiting for him to undress her. Fuck.

Taking a deep breath, Joseph tried to force his brain to work as he peered at the place where she'd placed his hand, guessing- _hoping_- that was where it fastened. A visual inspection yielded no clues even though his face was practically buried between her breasts, and that was not making it easier to concentrate. In desperation, he groped at the area, thinking he could feel some kind of clasp, but how it unhooked was a mystery to him. "Help?" he finally asked, his face flaming, and Belle started.

"Oh baby, I'm sorry!" she said at once, taking both of his hands in her own to position his fingers. "I forgot. Here, you just squeeze and twist, like this."

Her words warmed him even as he paid close attention to her instructions. If she'd forgotten how inexperienced he was, that had to be a good sign. It meant he couldn't be doing too badly. With her help, he unfastened the clasp, beaming with pride that turned into dismay as she rehooked it. Belle grinned at him unrepentantly, lifting both of his hands to her mouth to kiss before she lay back. "Now you do it."

Rolling his eyes at her teasing to cover his fear that he wouldn't be able to manage the trick, Joseph forced his trembling fingers to cooperate, mentally repeating Belle's instructions: squeeze and twist and _oh_.

His mouth went dry as the lacy garment came apart in his hands, and Belle shrugged it off, giving him his first look at her bare breasts. He should have been saying something. He should have been telling her how beautiful she was, so beautiful that angels must surely weep with jealousy of her. He should have been telling her that she was soft and pale and sweet and perfect, and if she permitted him to do nothing more than gaze upon her, he would die a happy man.

"Breathe," she prompted, and he suddenly realized that he'd stopped. The ragged gasp of air cleared his head slightly, allowing him to think even though he still couldn't look away. "You can touch."

With her permission granted, Joseph couldn't have stopped himself had God Himself forbidden it. At first, he grazed just the outer swell with his fingertips, encouraged by her sharp inhalation. Before he knew what was happening, he was boldly cupping each breast, relishing how they fit so perfectly in his hands. Never had he felt anything so wondrously soft, and his angel moaned at his touch. They were made for each other.

As soon as he'd touched, he had to kiss, and Belle gave him a beatific smile at his anxious look. She was so very soft, so very warm, and she tasted so sweet. He painted her breasts with eager kisses, giving them the same attention that he gave her mouth, and beneath him his angel sighed and moaned, her fingers carding through his hair to gently guide him, showing him how to please her best. Her sweet pink nipples pebbled beneath his lips, and coaxing forth this sign of pleasure from her was the greatest achievement of his life.

He didn't know if he kissed her for minutes or hours, time losing all meaning as he worshipped his angel with his mouth. Nothing existed for him beyond her softness and the beautiful noises she made whenever he pleased her. All too soon, she tugged at his hair, pulling him away from her, and he whimpered in protest, wanting only to keep lavishing his attention on her, to hear her sigh his name in that husky voice that made him tremble.

"Hush, baby," she murmured, her fingers stroking against his skin just under the waistband of his boxers. "It's time. Are you ready?"

In his delirious joy at touching her, he'd almost forgotten that there was more to this than just touching. At her question, he suddenly became aware of his body's demands, of the aching need to be as close to his angel as possible, to bury himself in her so deeply they would never have to be parted and no one- not the Church nor another man- could ever take her away from him.

"Yes," he gasped, feeling desperate, "Oh yes."

Belle eased him off of her so she could pull his boxers down, Joseph cooperating as best his could, his body feeling heavy and not completely under his control. He was all but trembling with the urge to simply fling himself at her, to bury himself against his angel's body, to rub and push and be as close to her as he could be.

Her fingers grazed over his cock, and he cried out, the broken sound echoing in the room as he grabbed at her hand to pull her away. He tried to kiss her fingers and ended up biting at them instead as he struggled for control. She'd barely touched him and yet his climax was so close that he could feel his stomach tightening. If the merest brush of his angel's hand was enough to tip him over the edge, being inside of her would surely drive him mad.

"It's okay," Belle promised, "Just a little bit longer, baby."

Dazed, he watched her hands go to her own knickers before she hesitated, looking up at him with a shy smile. "Do you want to do it?" she offered, letting her hands drop, and he took over for her with no hesitation, some part of him still unable to believe what was happening as he removed the last barrier between them, careful not to tear the delicate lace.

"Oh _Belle_..." he breathed, unable to think of another word. She was exquisite, all pale skin and dainty curls, and when he remembered to breathe, the rich scent of her arousal made his eyes roll back in his head. She wanted him. His angel _wanted_ him.

He wanted to look, to brush his fingers over her, to taste if she'd allow it, but Belle was settling back in the pillows and drawing him down with her, her legs parting to cradle him as he came to rest on top of her, and he was suddenly throbbing against her most secret place, and the heat of her made him want to howl.

Belle rocked her hips, and he slid against her, having to shut his eyes as heat and wetness caressed the underside of his cock, overwhelming him. She tugged him down so he could rest his head on her shoulder as they moved together, and this had to be a dream. Nothing real could feel this incredible as his angel wrapped her arms around him, her cheek lying on his hair. "Is this still what you want, baby?" she asked, and the ridiculous noise he made seemed to be answer enough.

"Okay," she breathed, then her hand wrapped around his cock, positioning him against her, and he cried out, lifting his head so he could look in her eyes. He needed to see her eyes, needed to see the warmth in them that was just for him, wanted to see what she looked like when their bodies joined for the first time.

She smiled at him, and he could see nothing but tenderness in her face as she urged him on. "Go ahead, baby. Whenever you're ready."

Joseph had been ready for hours, months, and he could wait no longer. He pushed his hips forward, whining pathetically when he couldn't quite get the angle right. Belle wrapped her legs around his hips to encourage him, and he pushed against her, finally managing to adjust enough to allow him to sink a few inches into her with ridiculous ease. For a moment, he felt nothing but a blissful heat and wetness, then she tightened around him, the sweet pressure nearly making him lose control right then.

"_Belle_..." he moaned, beyond all reason as her heat engulfed him, his angel's body welcoming him inside, letting him be close to her.

"That's right, baby, keep going. You feel so _good_," she sighed, and all speech deserted him. He had to sink his teeth into his bottom lip to keep from screaming as he thrust deeper, easing his way into her as carefully as he could. He clung to her, shaking violently. So good. It was so _good_. Her body was so tight around him that he could barely move, not that he wanted to. She was so soft, so warm and welcoming and wonderful that he never wanted to leave her.

Dimly, he felt her stroking his back and heard her murmuring soft words of praise as she held him close. His hair was hanging in his face, his mouth open as he struggled for breath, for the words to tell her how incredible she was. No words could ever encompass the sheer power of this, and all Joseph could do was stare at her in desperate wonder as he rocked against her, slowly sheathing himself in her.

She was almost painfully tight around him, their bodies slotting together like two pieces of a puzzle, and how could he have ever believed this would be a sin? Nothing in his life had ever been better or more pure than this. He was buried to the hilt in his angel's precious body, and her arms were around him, and she was holding him, and this was Heaven. The distance between them had finally been crossed; nothing was keeping them apart any longer. He was inside of her, and he was hers, and she was his, and no moment could be more sacred.

Joseph couldn't look away from her eyes, tears stinging his own. It felt as though Belle was gazing at his soul, seeing every flaw, every broken place, and her face was alight with warmth. He'd never felt more vulnerable. She could have destroyed him with a word, and instead she gathered him close, pulling him down for a tender kiss that instantly drove away every moment of pain and loneliness he'd ever known. None of that mattered now or ever would again. His angel was giving herself to him, and he'd never be truly alone again as long as he had the memory of this perfect moment to sustain him.

All he wanted was to keep kissing her, to run his hands reverently over her, and tell her how much he loved her, how much joy she brought him, but he was beyond speech, and his body's demands were starting to overwhelm the needs of his soul. He wanted more, wanted to be closer yet, but he was in her to the root already. "_Belle_..." he moaned, shocked by how ragged his voice was. He'd never sounded like this before, never. Then again, he'd never needed anything quite this badly before either. "Belle... angel... _please_."

"Yes, baby," she whispered, and she tightened around him, her inner muscles rippling, drawing him deeper, closer, and he couldn't breathe.

There was pressure and tension and pleasure, and he realized he was grinding his hips against her, trying to force himself deeper yet. Beneath him, Belle arched to meet his frantic movements, and he cried out desperately, some primitive instinct taking over as he started to thrust.

Pulling out of her was agony, but the slide back in was sheerest ecstasy as Belle twined her arms and legs around him, holding him close to her as he struggled to keep his movements slow and gentle. He wasn't even trying to support himself on his arms anymore, instead wrapping himself around her, and she moaned in approval, her hands sliding over his sweat-slicked back in blissful strokes.

Somehow he'd found a rhythm, but no matter how hard he tried to stop himself, the thrusts were already coming faster, his body no longer obeying his mind's commands. It wanted _closer_ and _more_ and _harder_ and _faster_, and he made a desperate noise of terror when he realized what was going to happen.

Belle was caressing him and sighing happily, but she was nowhere near where he was, and he was going to leave her behind, take his pleasure like a selfish brute, and leave her unsatisfied. He clawed at the bed, barely able to keep the presence of mind not to claw at her, and bit his lip bloody, trying to stem the tide, but it was like trying to hold back the break of day.

"Belle, _please_," he begged, praying that she'd be able to do something to stop him. He prayed that she'd strike him, push him away, anything to keep him from disappointing her.

"It's okay, baby," she murmured, cradling his face in her hands, her eyes so warm and loving. "Go ahead."

She didn't understand, didn't realize how weak he was, and he groaned, the tortured sound ringing out even as his thrusts became harder and more erratic. He'd completely lost the rhythm, moving against her in a kind of frenzy as his body desperately sought its climax even as he tried to hold back. "Belle, I can't! I'm going to..."

"Come for me." She arched her back, letting him go deeper, and he nearly convulsed. "Come for me, baby. I want you to come for me."

This time he couldn't suppress his loud cry, her words pushing him over the edge. He _had_ to obey his angel. Clutching her against him, he muffled his frantic groans against her mouth as he slammed into her again and again, his body shaking as the world fell apart around him. Belle held him tightly, holding him together as his climax hit him with terrifying intensity. Pulse after pulse, he poured himself into her, the orgasm seeming to go on for hours as he trembled in his angel's arms.

He clung to her desperately, feeling as though his world had come off its axis. Dimly, he realized he must be crushing her, and he was so out of it that it took him several minutes to figure out what to do about that.

With the last of his strength, he rolled off of her, keeping his arms tightly around her, pulling her with him until she was resting against his chest, still holding him deep within her body. Moaning, he pulled her a little closer, reveling in the longed-for sensation of being completely surrounded by her. So warm… It was so warm here, so safe and good…

"How do you feel, baby?" Belle's soft voice permeated the fog surrounding him as she ran her fingers tenderly through his hair before moving lower to caress the side of his face. Joseph nuzzled into that touch like a cat, unable to find words for the utter bliss of being inside her.

Slowly his brain started to work again, and his face heated as he realized just how lacking his performance had been. For him, it had been the best experience of his life, but she couldn't possibly have gotten much out of it. "I'm sorry," he murmured, unable to meet her eyes, "I know you didn't... I tried not to; I didn't want to, but it just felt so _good_... I couldn't wait. I'm so sorry, Belle."

"Oh, baby..." Belle's face softened with understanding, not a hint of blame in her expression. "Don't be sorry. It was your first time; I understand."

"I disappointed you," he said mournfully. Like everything else, he'd made a mess out of this too.

A finger firmly thumped the tip of his nose, Belle glaring down at him like a small, angry kitten. "I thought it felt _wonderful_," she informed him, "You're far too hard on yourself."

"But you didn't-" he started to protest, cutting himself off when he realized he didn't know how to finish that statement in a polite way.

"That doesn't mean I didn't enjoy the rest," she said firmly, before her eyes sparkled as an idea came to her. "Besides, if you feel that bad, you can always make it up to me."

Without another word, she rolled off of him, Joseph whimpering pathetically as he slid out of her. Belle settled back on the bed, her legs parted just enough to be inviting, and his heart thundered in his chest. "Really? You'll... you'll let me?"

She smiled tenderly in response, lifting his hand to her mouth to kiss it before guiding it to rest between her legs. They both groaned as his fingers breeched her folds for the first time, her slick heat unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

Belle tugged him down for a kiss, their tongues mating sensuously as he carefully started to explore. She was so delicate, so fragile that he was terrified he'd hurt her with his clumsy fingers, but the noises she made were of nothing but pleasure. He applied his full concentration to his task, barely managing to kiss her back as he took note of all the places that made her gasp against his lips or squirm beneath him.

When he glanced his fingers over the sensitive bud he found, Belle tensed, her teeth nipping at his lower lip, and that felt better than it had any right to. He wanted her to bite and claw, to drive her so crazy with pleasure she could no longer think clearly, to make her as wild for him as he was for her.

Somehow he seemed to know what to do. Some instinct guided his hand, telling him exactly where Belle liked to be touched. Joseph didn't know where this sudden expertise was coming from, but he was afraid to think on it too much for fear he'd break the spell. Instead he spooned up behind her, one hand cradling her breast and teasing her nipple as he slid his fingers into her, his thumb pressing against the bud of nerves, and his angel was writhing against him, her voice rising in breathless little cries of pleasure that were all he ever wanted to hear.

Suddenly she tensed, going so still he thought he'd hurt her, then she was calling his name and pressing back into his arms like she couldn't get close enough, and nothing had ever made him feel prouder. He'd pleased his angel, satisfied her, and he felt like he'd performed a miracle.

He kept stroking her, easing her through it, and Belle rubbed against him like a cat, "Oh baby, that was wonderful."

Beyond words, he nuzzled at her throat, grunting as he felt himself hardening again. That was new. Never had his body been so demanding, and Joseph was torn between feeling smugly proud and hoping Belle wouldn't reprove him for his greed.

He needn't have worried. She reached down to stroke him, sighing as he instinctively thrust into her hand, and guided him to her entrance. "Take me."

It was easier to slide into her the second time, his body already learning the way of this. In this position, he couldn't thrust as deeply, but there were other rewards. He could curl himself around her, hold her protectively against him and let his hands roam her body, seeking out the places that would make her moan as his lips trailed up and down her throat.

This time he wouldn't be so impatient, he promised himself. He wouldn't be selfish. He would make certain that his angel had reached her satisfaction before taking his own, and he let his hand stray between her legs again. Her soft cries of pleasure were sweeter than any music, and this moment was the pinnacle of his existence. Nothing else had ever come close.

_This_, he thought in dazed joy. This was what he was meant for. This was what his body was supposed to do. God had created him for this purpose: to give his Belle pleasure, to fill her up with children. How could the Church possible think this to be sin when the Father Himself had ordained it?

It didn't matter. It was enough that they knew this was right. This was where he was meant to be: with her, and he would relish every moment they had together. He moved a little faster, a little deeper, his mouth closing over the place where her neck met her shoulder. Belle was moaning for him, and he wanted more. He wanted to please her, wanted to feel her take that pleasure from him, and he wanted it more than he wanted his next breath.

It seemed to go on for a blissful eternity, the slow slide of his body within hers, the sweet heat of her against his fingers, and he could barely hear his own groans, too enraptured by the wonderful noises she was making. Still, it was too soon when he felt his climax building, the primal need to spill his seed inside of her again. Gritting his teeth, he forced it back. Not until she did. Belle had to come first.

"Please, Belle..." he begged hoarsely, barely aware of what he was saying, "My beautiful angel... _please_..."

He stroked her a little harder and apparently did something right, because her body stiffened in his arms, her muscles tensing for a moment before she cried out, moving against him with a sensual abandon that, combined with the blissful contractions of her silken inner muscles around him, shattered his control.

With a growl, he thrust himself forward again, sinking his teeth into her neck at the same moment to muffle his shout of pleasure as he let himself go. Unbelievably, his frantic thrusts seemed to prolong her own pleasure as her soft cries and the delicious little convulsions of her body went on and on, milking every last drop of ecstasy out of him and taking him far, far beyond anywhere he'd ever been before.

He clung to her, gasping, as the orgasm finally faded away. Obeying some hidden instinct, he pressed forward again, pushing deep into her with a gentle thrust that made her moan and arch back against him. Groaning, he did it again and then again, the soft friction intense enough to be painful, but it was the best feeling in the world because her pleasure had become his pleasure, and anything that made her feel good did at least twice that for him.

Even when he softened enough to slide out of her, Joseph couldn't bear to let her go, licking apologetically at the mark he'd made on her throat. "Did I hurt you?"

"Not at all," she assured him at once, Belle's hands moving to rest over his. "Everything you did felt _wonderful_."

Joseph thought he now understood why people were willing to risk so much and do so many ridiculous things for sex. Physically, it had been astonishing- he'd had no idea his body could feel so much pleasure- but emotionally, it had been overwhelming. He'd never felt so close to Belle, and even now he could feel the connection between them humming. He was utterly hers now, and no matter what happened, she'd always be part of him. He couldn't imagine wanting it with anyone else, but there was no way he'd ever be able to get enough of his angel.

Later though, he admitted ruefully to himself as he yawned against the back of her neck, and she giggled. He'd never been so exhausted before, his entire body drained of every last bit of energy and aching in the most wonderful way.

Belle rolled over in his arms, snuggling against him with her head on his shoulder and her arm around his middle, the same way they'd always slept. There was comfort in the familiarity mixed with the excitement of having her bare skin pressing against his. She didn't seem inclined to leave him to get her pajamas, and he said a mental prayer of thanksgiving for that. Any distance between them would be too much now.

"Sleep, baby," she coaxed, leaning up for their traditional good night kiss, their lips meeting and clinging for far longer than they had on any previous night.

Joseph nodded, wishing he could find the words to tell her what she meant to him, how much he treasured this gift she was giving him. "I love you," he breathed, and it didn't feel like enough.

Belle's eyes glistened, but she smiled at him, pulling away only long enough to extinguish the bedside light. "Good night, baby," she whispered, curling back into his arms, and that was enough for him.


	12. Chapter 11

Belle came awake to the sensation of warm fingers stroking the side of her face, and she smiled, nuzzling into the touch. Blinking her eyes open in the predawn light, she found Joseph sharing her pillow, his face only inches from hers as he caressed her cheek. "Good morning," he murmured, his voice huskier than she'd ever heard it, and his eyes were fraught with worry.

"Too early for morning," she scolded, leaning forward to brush her lips against his, hoping to banish whatever doubt had seized him.

The tension in him eased at the soft kiss, and he actually smiled a little for her. "Good night then," he corrected himself, and she giggled. Joseph beamed at the sound. "You... are you... You're not sorry. Are you?"

Her heart melted at the hope and hesitation in his voice. "No, baby," she assured him at once, and he moved closer to her, the darkness leaving his eyes. "Never sorry."

"Thank God," he breathed, cradling her face in his hand and using his thumb to stroke her cheekbone, "I was worried. I know I'm not very... good at it."

"You're _perfect_, baby," she vowed, meaning every word. Joseph's hesitant touches had been exactly right. This was something they could learn together. She might have more experience, but she didn't know what pleased _him_. If he was a little uncertain, a little clumsy, he was so gentle and kind that it didn't matter at all. There was a kind of aching honesty about making love with Joseph. No one had ever looked at her with such unguarded wonder before.

No one had ever loved her quite like this, she admitted to herself. With Rumpelstiltskin and Nick she'd had true love, but she'd also shared their hearts: Rumpelstiltskin's with Bae and Nick's with Gloria. She'd never begrudged it- how could she?- but there was something ineffably sweet in being the sole occupant of Joseph's heart.

Part of her wished she could give him her whole heart as well. Belle would never wish away Rumpelstiltskin or Nick or what they'd shared, but it would be beautiful to return his gift in kind. There were so many things she wished were different-starting with her curse and ending with his vows- and they'd just have to make the most of what they had.

Wrapping her hand around the back of his neck, she tugged him closer for another kiss, and he moaned against her mouth as she parted her lips for him, inviting him inside. He was ready for her already, and his enthusiasm was flattering. Belle shifted, pulling him down on top of her as she cradled him between her legs, Joseph instinctively moving against her until he was nudging against the entrance to her body.

He tore his mouth from hers, looking down at her with wide eyes. "Yes?" he questioned, making sure that this was what she wanted, and his concern made her melt.

"Yes," she breathed, and he pushed against her, easing himself in with heart-stopping gentleness as she wrapped herself around him, holding him close with her arms and legs as they kissed messily. This was slow and easy in the muzzy place that lay between sleep and waking, and they rocked against each other unhurriedly. There was no urgency, just warmth and closeness, and she hadn't felt this cherished in such a long time.

Above her, Joseph was moaning with every breath, and it felt good to know that her body could offer him so much pleasure. He deserved every bit of goodness in the world, and even if she couldn't give him the forever that he wanted, at least she could give him this.

Eventually his movements grew more urgent, his panting more ragged, and she shifted beneath him, canting her hips slightly down so that he was brushing her clit with every thrust. She closed her eyes and just held on, surrendering to the pleasure that broke over her like a wave. With a low, sobbing cry, Joseph followed her over that edge, and she sighed as a rush of heat filled her.

She held on tightly as he buried his face against her throat, keeping his body on top of hers when he would have rolled them over. It felt so safe to have him blanketing her, and he nuzzled against her, murmuring half-coherent words of love and praise as they drifted together back into sleep.

The next time she awoke, the sun was bright, and she was sprawled over Joseph's chest, the pair of them apparently having moved at some point. Belle couldn't remember the last time she'd slept so well. Her body ached with the comfortable lassitude of a hard day's work or a woman who'd been very well loved. Smiling to herself, she buried her face against Joseph's chest to hide her blush, the memory of his gentle touches filling her with warmth. He'd looked at her with such awe, such intense devotion, that even if their lovemaking hadn't felt wonderful, she still would have treasured the experience.

The good feeling lasted until she rolled over to look at the clock and nearly fell out of the bed. "Baby, wake up!" she hissed, shaking his shoulder none-too-carefully.

"Mmph?" Any other time the muffled grunt of inquiry would have made her laugh, but now wasn't the time.

"Mass starts in half an hour," she informed him, and his eyes snapped open at that. Lunging out of bed, Belle gave her dress a quick glance, and immediately decided against struggling back into it, instead grabbing one of the t-shirts he usually slept in and pulling it over her head. It barely covered her, but it was certainly better than running around naked. "You get in the shower; I'll make breakfast."

When she turned around, Joseph was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at her with his mouth slack. "Baby?" She frowned in concern, but a quick glance at his lap showed her what was wrong. She tugged at the hem of the shirt, trying to cover herself up a little more, but she couldn't quite suppress her pleased smile. Darting over, she kissed him quickly, then headed for the door intending to give him the privacy to sort himself out. "Shower!"

He groaned loudly, and she giggled as she raced down the stairs, deciding that scrambled eggs was the fastest thing she could make. Upstairs, the shower went on as she started a pot of coffee, and she kept one eye on the clock as she cooked. This wasn't how she would have chosen to spend their morning after, but perhaps it was for the best. There was no time to be awkward with each other.

Awkwardness seemed to be the last thing on Joseph's mind as he bounded down the steps. His hair was still damp, and he hadn't bothered to shave, but he was neatly dressed and positively beaming as he snaked an arm around her waist to kiss her good morning.

Without the pressure of time, the kiss would surely have led to more, but all too soon he released her, never taking his eyes off of her as he bolted his eggs and coffee standing up. "I'll be home right after," he promised on his way out the door with only minutes to spare. He looked younger somehow and happier than she'd ever seen him. Belle wondered if anyone else would notice the transformation. If they did, she hoped they wouldn't guess what had caused it.

She ate her own breakfast more slowly, images from the previous night flashing through her mind. It had felt so right, so perfect to share herself with him. It felt like she'd been stumbling through their relationship with her eyes shut, and now they were open. This was what they'd been missing, what they were _meant_ to do.

With a sigh, she sipped at the tea she'd made for herself. It wasn't fair. They could be happy together. They _should_ be happy together. There was no point in reflecting on what could never be, Belle told herself firmly. She could not stay with Joseph forever, not if she wanted him safe. Better to enjoy what they had instead of longing for the moon.

After cleaning up the dishes, she took her own turn in the shower, wondering how Mass was going for him. More than anything, she hoped he wouldn't come to regret what they'd done when he was reminded of his responsibilities.

After sliding into her jeans, Belle gave in to temptation and put his shirt back on, remembering the look on his face when he'd seen her in it. Smiling to herself, she wondered if all men reacted so, or if it was as specific to her men as the liquid brown eyes that communicated so much without saying a word.

Either way, she couldn't deny the effect it had on him when he came home after the service to see her still wearing it. She'd been dusting, more to give herself something to do than because the house really needed it, and his eyes sought her immediately as he came through the door, lighting up with pleasure at the sight of her.

He was careful to lock the door behind him, then he was putting his arms around her, murmuring against her throat, "You look so beautiful."

She snuggled into him, tension she hadn't even realized she was carrying melting away at his embrace. "How was church?" Belle winced a little when she realized what she'd said. Considering what they'd spent the night doing, it seemed like a vastly inappropriate question to ask.

Joseph didn't seem to notice. "It went well. At least I think it did." He nuzzled his face against the side of her neck, "I was distracted."

"Sweet baby," she murmured fondly, and he all but purred, running his hands over her back, a smothered gasp escaping him when he registered that she wasn't wearing anything under his shirt.

He was instantly hard although he took a slight step back, trying not to let her feel his excitement, and Belle giggled at his attempt at chivalry, hauling him back against her. "It's okay, baby. It's flattering."

She could feel his face heating as he pressed it more firmly against her throat, his voice muffled. "I don't want you to think... You might not want me pawing at you all the time."

Turning her head, she kissed his temple. "You can touch all you like," she promised, and he sighed, "Do you want to go back upstairs?"

"Oh, yes. Yes," he whispered, then his mouth was on hers, his hands splaying against her back to press her as tightly against him as he could, and Belle wondered if settling themselves on the sofa wouldn't be a better idea. It was probably better not to risk it. No one was likely to come knocking, but just in case, the bedroom would be safer. Joseph might well prefer the more traditional location.

Together, they stumbled up the stairs, stifling laughter against each other's mouths when they couldn't stop kissing long enough to make any real progress. Belle had almost forgot how much fun lovemaking could be, but it was quickly coming back to her.

She sprawled gracelessly back across the bed, Joseph following her down. His eyes were alight with happiness as he beamed at her, and she reached up to remove his collar insert. This was their time. She wasn't going to think about her curse or his vows or the future. This was for _them_, and nothing else mattered.

He helped her get his shirt off, then Belle flipped them over, so he was lying flat with her above him so she could admire him properly. Joseph would always be small and slight, but he'd gained a little weight in the last months, and it suited him. He looked comfortable in his skin now, a far cry from the painfully gaunt man she'd met when she'd first come to Middlesbrough.

Physically, he was a close match for Rumpelstiltskin and Nick. Belle trailed her fingers over his chest, wondering if he shared any of the same sensitive places, and he gasped as she grazed her fingertips over his flat nipples. Smiling to herself, she leaned down to kiss them, and he groaned like she was torturing him, clutching at her arms. "Belle! Oh, Belle..."

"Just relax, baby," she encouraged him, blowing a little gust of cool air over one nipple, teasing the tight nub it formed as it hardened for her. "Just enjoy it."

Beneath her, Joseph whimpered and squirmed as she caressed his chest, seeking out every secret place and lavishing it with attention from her fingers and lips. He was breathing raggedly, his hips jerking uncontrollably even though she'd barely touched him, and there was something ineffably sweet about his responsiveness. Every touch excited him almost unbearably, and he didn't make the slightest effort to hide his reactions. Joseph _needed_ this, needed loving touch, and Belle wondered what kind of god would demand his followers deny themselves.

It wasn't her place to judge, and she dismissed the thought, concentrating on the moment. There was sparse hair on his stomach that neither Rumpelstiltskin nor Nick shared, and she found it fascinating, enjoying swirling her fingers through it as he all but sobbed with need. "Belle, _please_!"

She couldn't be greedy, couldn't be selfish. Quickly, she unfastened his trousers, stripping them and his boxers off of him with little ceremony as Joseph toed off his shoes. His socks went last, and he was suddenly bare beneath her, his body quivering with tension.

His cock was twitching eagerly against his belly, the tip already damp, and to do more would be to torture him. Instead she wrapped her hand around him, and he cried out, his eyes screwed shut like a man facing a firing squad. Leaning down, she took him in her mouth, running her tongue over the underside, and his hoarse shout reverberated through the room, his body arching like an electrical current was running through him. Pleased with the reaction, she licked him again, then strong hands grabbed her upper arms, and he pulled her off of him, his eyes wild.

"No! No, no, no, Belle, no. You shouldn't... you don't have to... I'd never ask you to, _never_," he gasped, barely coherent, and Belle wrapped her arms around him, petting his hair in an effort to soothe him.

"I'm sorry, baby," she murmured, guilt filling her. She'd wanted this to be nothing but enjoyable for him, but she'd clearly missed the mark.

"No, don't apologize, don't." If anything, he only sounded more distressed. "I didn't mean... You don't have to do that, Belle. You're too good for that."

For the life of her, she had no idea how to respond to that. Joseph seemed to have some odd notions in his head about sex, but now was not the time to have that conversation. She kissed his cheek instead. "We won't do anything you don't want to do," she promised, "Just tell me what you want, baby. That's what we'll do."

He seemed to calm a bit at her words, and he kissed her shoulder before looking up at her hopefully. "Could I... touch you now?"

"Of course," she assured him, taking his place on the bed. Perhaps touching her would let him feel like he had more control over things. The last thing she wanted to do was pressure him or take advantage.

"Thank you," he breathed like she'd give him a gift, and he smoothed his hands over her arms until he reached her hands, lifting each one to his mouth for a kiss before replacing them on the mattress. "I like how you look in my clothes," he confessed shyly.

She smiled at the compliment and gently teased, "Well, that's good, because I like how _you_ look in them too."

The pleased smile he gave her was almost boyish, then he was resting his hands on the fly of her jeans. "Can I take these off?"

"You can do whatever you want." She lifted her hips to help him as he eased her jeans and knickers off, leaving her clad only in his shirt which he tugged down a little to protect her modesty.

"My beautiful angel," he whispered reverently. With gentle hands he cupped her breasts through the shirt, kneading tenderly, and she sighed with pleasure. "My perfect Belle."

She was hardly perfect, but Joseph looked at her with such awe that she wondered what she'd ever done to deserve such devotion. Whatever it was, she was honored to mean so much to him.

His gaze swept over her in a nearly-palpable caress, and Belle arched unselfconsciously. With careful hands, he pushed the hem of the shirt up, leaning down to press tender kisses to her stomach as she carded her fingers through his hair. "Sweet baby..."

Joseph moaned at the endearment, burying his face between her breasts as he nuzzled her through the shirt. "My angel," he breathed as he pulled back enough to caress her, his trembling fingers trailing through her damp nest of curls. "Can I? Will you let me?"

"Of course," she murmured, sinking back into the pillows as she closed her eyes and parted her legs, waiting to feel him claim her. Instead a warm tongue rasped against her most private place, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Propping herself up on her elbows, she looked down in disbelief, "Joseph, what-?"

"I'm sorry!" he blurted, jerking away from her with his face flaming, "I'm sorry. I thought you said I could."

_That_ was what he'd been asking to do? It didn't make any sense; less than ten minutes ago he'd firmly rejected the notion of oral sex. "It's okay," she assured him at once, but he still looked miserable, poised like he was ready to bolt, "Don't be sorry, baby. I misunderstood, that's all."

His face was regaining its normal color, but he still looked like he was expecting her to smack him. "Should... should I stop?"

"Only if you want to," she told him, reaching down to squeeze his hand. "If that's what you want, baby, you're welcome. Anything you want."

He nodded, looking so hopeful that it broke her heart, "I really want to," he confided, and she smiled, lying back on the bed and parting her legs to give him more room.

This time she was ready for it, and the gentle rasp of his tongue made her sigh instead of shocking her half to death. If she strained her ears, she could hear Joseph whimpering as he lapped at her artlessly, and she did her best to moan whenever he found a place that was particularly sensitive.

He was a little clumsy and a little awkward, but what he lacked in technique, Joseph made up for in enthusiasm. He was moaning with every stroke of his tongue, sounding like he was enjoying it every bit as much as she was as he made a study of what pleased her, quickly zeroing in on the places that made her shiver or sigh.

Belle carded her fingers through his shaggy hair, needing the touch as her body slipped her control, instinctively moving with him as he pleasured her with his tongue. It was so good, and she was so close, but it wasn't quite enough. "Fingers," she begged, and whimpered when he stopped briefly, apparently trying to figure out what she was saying, "Fingers... inside me."

It was as clear a request as she could manage, and fortunately he seemed to get it at once because two long fingers slid into her, and she clenched gratefully around them, hearing his loud groan. Frantically, she rocked her hips, so close she could almost taste it. "Curl them... toward you," she begged, and he did as requested, suddenly hitting exactly the right place, and she fell apart with a smothered scream.

When she came back to herself, he was hovering over her, his expression flickering between delight and worry, and she giggled in spite of herself. "That was perfect, baby."

He lit up at the praise, his eyes going wide when she wrapped her hand around his cock, coaxing him down until he was pressing against her entrance. "Your turn," she cooed, and he slid into her with a muffled curse that turned into a strangled groan.

"I love how you feel inside me," she murmured, reminded once again of how well they fit together, of how perfect he felt sheathed inside of her.

"Oh _fuck_," he gasped, pulling partway out before thrusting back in, his eyes rolling back in his head.

She ran her hands over his back. "That's it, baby. That's good. That's right."

He managed another thrust, then another, each one a little sharper than the last. "_Belle_," he moaned, his voice ragged, "I'm not... won't last... can't..."

"Then don't," she whispered fiercely wrapping her legs around his hips to pull him deeper, and Joseph groaned like he was dying, "If you need to come, then come. It's all right, baby. I want you to. Come for me, Joseph. Come in me."

He shuddered and groaned and obeyed, his body trembling in her arms as he let himself go, flooding her with his heat. Belle hugged him close to her, letting him rest his head on her breasts as she stroked him, offering comfort as he pulled himself back together. "You're so wonderful, baby," she murmured as she kissed his hair, "I'm so thankful for you."

"I love you, Belle," he vowed, his voice breaking, "I love you."

She held him tighter, wishing she could say it back. His shirt was twisted around her uncomfortably, but the thought of letting go of him was an abomination, and they stayed where they were, curled around each other, for a long, long time.

The following five days passed in much the same way. Everything that could be put off for a later time was neglected in favor of spending long hours in bed together, learning each other's bodies with the focus of an astronomer with a new planet. They were constantly eager for each other, which came as a surprise to Belle. She'd expected Joseph to be more shy, but although he was still hesitant, afraid he'd do something wrong, he seemed to feel no need to suppress his desire for her. For her part, Belle, who hadn't expected to ever want anyone again after she lost Nick, found herself constantly craving the warmth and comfort of his touch. Joseph made her feel loved, and she hadn't realized how badly she'd needed that.

It was a shock when the six days ended. Even in that brief time, she'd grown accustomed to tender caresses and soft kisses, and perhaps deciding to limit themselves to only six days had been foolish.

It was a blessing that his work kept him out of the house that first day. Everything that could be delayed, he'd put off so they could spend more time together, and now he was playing catch up. Without his presence, the house seemed almost unbearably quiet, and if she relied on him this much after just six days, Belle couldn't fathom how she'd ever adjust to being without him permanently.

The thought sobered her and kept her from running into his arms as soon as he came home that evening. It was dangerous enough to love Joseph, to need him was inviting disaster. Belle sighed, washing a dish with a bit more force than needed as she thought about it. This wasn't about them, _couldn't_ be about them. They weren't lovers, not really, just friends who were trying to make a baby. If she couldn't force herself to remember that, everything would be ruined.

"Are you all right?" Joseph asked quietly, coming up behind her to slide his arms around her waist, holding her close as he rested his chin on her shoulder.

In spite of herself, Belle leaned back against him, the sweet embrace doing much to soothe her. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm all right." She had to be all right, had to be strong, otherwise she'd never be able to leave.

"Okay," he murmured, not sounding like he believed her. He held her a little closer, offering comfort, and she relaxed against him, concentrating on matching her breathing to his. Eventually, she felt him hardening against her, and her body responded immediately, flooding with heat even as she prepared to tell him no.

Joseph pressed a tender kiss to her cheek, then released her and picked up the dish towel. "I'll dry," he offered, leaning against the counter as he waited for her to pass him a dish. Although his posture was slightly awkward, he didn't say a word, and they finished the task together.

Sleeping beside him was probably not a good idea either, but Belle couldn't bring herself to deny either of them. She _liked_ sharing a bed with Joseph, always had, and soon enough she would be forced to acclimate to sleeping alone. She wouldn't rush it.

It felt strange to don her pajamas after everything they'd done, but she didn't trust either of them otherwise. Bare skin was too much temptation. Even with the fabric between them, Joseph made a soft noise of pleasure as she snuggled against him, and she turned her face to kiss his chest through his t-shirt, the same one she'd worn that first day. "I missed you today," he confessed, voice barely audible, "That probably sounds stupid."

Tears stung her eyes as she nuzzled closer, her hand slipping under his shirt to rest over his heart, his skin warm against hers. "I missed you too, baby."

"Really?" he asked, sounding so hopeful that it broke her heart.

"Very much," she assured him, and his hold on her tightened, his breathing going ragged. If she let her hand explore lower, she knew what she would find, yet he did nothing but hold onto her. "I wish..." she breathed, not finishing the thought. There was no point. They couldn't be forever no matter how much they both wished otherwise.

It didn't grow any easier to deny themselves as the intervening weeks passed. If they were together, they were touching, and the cuddling helped to take the edge off, but it didn't satisfy Belle's desire for closeness. Frequently, she could feel evidence that he felt the same way, but Joseph never said a word about his problem.

When her monthly blood came, she was guiltily relieved. It was wrong to want this the way she did, but as soon as she fell pregnant, she would have to leave him, and Belle wasn't yet ready to give Joseph up.

She found herself anticipating their next try with every bit of the excitement she'd felt as a young girl looking forward to the winter festival, and if his trembling hands were anything to go by, Joseph agreed completely.

They both woke early on the first morning, and although he was already breathing hard, he didn't move a muscle until she reached for him, drawing him into the circle of her arms as she pulled him down for a kiss. He groaned against her mouth, already hard for her, and she felt her own body flood with warmth, readying itself for her mate.

She reached between them, fumbling first with her pajama pants, then his own and Joseph kicked them off, settling between her legs, exactly where she wanted him, where she'd been craving him for weeks. "Yes, baby," she gasped when he hesitated, immediately claiming his mouth again as he pushed deep with a single thrust, and she nearly sobbed at how right it felt to have him within her once more.

It couldn't last; they were both far too on edge. His thrusts were jerky and desperate, and she clutched him closer, trying to mold them together permanently. She climaxed in a matter of minutes, Joseph immediately following her over that edge, and it barely took the edge off.

"I _missed_ this," she sighed as he rolled them over so she was sprawled over his chest, and he nodded empathically.

"I thought I'd lose my mind. Being with you every day but not able to touch... Belle, _please_," he moaned, and she could feel him hardening again.

The second time they were able to be more patient, take the time to relearn each other instead of just frantically groping for contact. They even eventually managed to get the rest of their clothes off as they rolled around like randy teenagers, desperately eager for each other. Joseph couldn't seem to stop kissing her, his tongue buried as deep in her mouth as his cock was in her body, and Belle felt completely engulfed by him, by his warmth and love, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so safe.

In another world, they would be together forever- married and happy- and they could be like this always. In this world with so many obstacles in their way, they had six days to indulge in each other before returning to the status quo, and no matter how hard Belle tried not to think about what was coming, she mourned her impending loss even as she tried to lose herself in Joseph.

Although the weeks in between dragged, the six days flew, and all too soon they were right back where they started, chastely sharing a life. She caught him staring at her sometimes, longing in his eyes, and it would be so easy to call off the six day rule and simply indulge themselves, but if she did that, she'd never have the strength to leave him.

When she woke up two weeks later feeling run-down and nauseous, she wasn't sure what to hope for. There mere fact that she didn't _want_ to leave Joseph proved how important it was that she did and as soon as possible before they got any more tangled up in each other.

Soon enough though she realized what was happening and Belle cursed herself for feeling relieved when her nausea consolidated itself into a general ache, the back of her throat feeling tight and dry no matter how much water she drank. She wasn't pregnant, not yet, just sick.

Belle had never seen Joseph look so worried about anything. "Why don't you just stay in bed?" he pleaded when she went to rise the next morning. She'd spent the night coughing, unable to suppress it, and he'd spent it fetching her glasses of water and rubbing her chest or her back to ease the aching pressure. Neither of them had gotten much sleep, but he was a bundle of nervous energy.

"It's just a cold," she assured him, her voice hoarse, and he made a noise of distress, putting his hands on her shoulders to press her back into the pile of pillows behind her.

"_Please_," he begged, "You're sick, angel. You need to rest. Just let me take care of you."

Another coughing spasm took her, and she doubled over, Joseph immediately moving to sit beside her on the bed so she could lean against him while he rubbed her back. "You're staying in bed," he said firmly as she finally caught her breath.

He would tolerate no opposition, giving her a stern look before disappearing downstairs only to reappear some minutes later with a cup of tea, a bowl of oatmeal sweetened with a bit too much honey, and her book.

"Even _I_ can boil water," he scolded at her surprised look at breakfast. "I'm sure it's not very good, but-"

In truth, he'd probably never be much of a cook, but the fact that he'd thought to do it for her would have made her gladly choke down something far worse than too-sweet oatmeal. "I think it's lovely."

He watched her like a hawk as she ate, running to retrieve a box of tissues for her when her nose started to drip, and she was an absolute mess. "What else can I do?" he asked as she finished eating, "Do you want some aspirin? More tea?"

"You're going to be late for church," she rasped, craning her neck to look around him at the clock, and Joseph frowned.

"I don't want to leave you on your own," he temporized.

"I'm fine," she assured him, her voice cracking on the words which didn't seem to reassure him at all. "I'll read or nap until you come back."

"Belle-" he started, sounding miserable, and she pointed at the door.

"Mass," she insisted, and he reluctantly left the room, coming back with another cup of tea for her before he went to shower. When he returned, clad only in a towel, his gaze immediately sought her as though he'd been afraid she'd run off, and she gave him a little wave as he crossed to the closet.

"Want me to close my eyes?" she offered him an impish smile, "Or enjoy the show?"

That surprised a laugh out of him, and his shoulders relaxed slightly. "You've seen it all before," he chuckled, dropping the towel to dress himself quickly in his standard attire, and Belle smiled as she took in the view. Ill or not, Joseph was lean and compact and lovely to look at.

"Are you _sure_ you don't need anything?" he asked, coming over to kiss her forehead.

"I'm fine, and you have two minutes," she said decisively, struggling not to cough as she straightened his collar, "Go."

He went, not looking at all happy about it, and she muffled her cough in the duvet until she heard the door close behind him, not wanting him to worry.

Although she tried to read, her head ached too much to manage it, and she finally put the novel down, deciding that Joseph's injunction to rest was smartest thing she could possibly do. She didn't mean to really sleep, only to doze, but soon enough she found herself drifting off.

When she awoke, it was like climbing out of a pit. Her eyes felt gritty, her entire body ached, and she was freezing. A low voice was speaking next to her, and she managed to wrest one eye open to see Joseph kneeling beside the bed, his hands clasped in front of him.

"Father, please watch over my Belle. Rest Your healing hand upon her and restore her. Help her regain her health and strength so that we might both serve You better. Please care for her in her time of need. Please help her to be well again. Amen." He crossed himself and looked up, starting a little when he saw her watching him. Before she could worry that she'd been eavesdropping, he smiled at her, "How are you feeling?"

"Freezing," she admitted, snuggling deeper into the blankets, and Joseph's smile fled. A cool hand pressed against her forehead for a moment, then he tucked the blankets higher so that she was cocooned up to her chin.

"You have a fever," he told her, his eyes worried, "We need to take you to a doctor."

The thought made her shudder. Normally she could push the revulsion down enough to deal with medical personnel, but she felt too raw and too vulnerable to handle that now, a little voice in the back of her head insisting that she'd be locked away again. "No. No, _please_."

"Belle, you're sick," Joseph tried to reason with her, and to her horror, she felt tears starting.

"Please don't make me," she whispered, and she sounded pathetic, but she couldn't help it.

His unhappiness was clear, but he didn't argue, just grabbed a tissue and used it to blot away her tears. "All right. But if you get worse..." He left the rest of it unsaid, and she was grateful for that.

Instead he took the blankets off the bed in the spare room to wrap them around her, creating a cozy nest before he went to fetch her soup and more tea. "Out of a tin," he admitted, but it was hot, and she couldn't taste it anyway.

She was blowing her nose every three minutes, and she felt thoroughly disgusting, but Joseph didn't even seem to notice, much less care. He took the dishes away, then crawled into bed beside her, placing a pillow on his lap so she could comfortably rest her head there.

"Do you want me to read to you, angel?" he offered as he hypnotically stroked her hair, "Or do you just want to sleep?"

She felt too tired to follow the plot of her book, but she desperately wanted to hear his voice. "Read, please."

It took him a moment to get organized, but they found that if he rested the book against her blanket-shrouded shoulder, he could read and stroke her hair at the same time. "There was a message brought, one day, from the worshipful Gervayse Pyncheon to young Matthew Maule, the carpenter, desiring his immediate presence at the House of the Seven Gables..."

His accent thickened when he was worried, Belle noted dreamily as she listened to him read. It sounded lovely, but she was too tired to tell him so.

The words bled together, the story washing over her without her processing any of it. It didn't matter. Joseph was reading to her, taking care of her, and she loved him so much that it hurt.

"I love you, Belle," a voice whispered, gentle lips brushing against her temple, and she tried to make her lips shape the words in return, but sleep took her too quickly to manage it.


	13. Chapter 12

Joseph continued to read long after Belle slipped into sleep, her ragged breathing the most terrifying thing he'd ever heard. Intellectually he knew it was just a cold, but he couldn't dismiss the fear that curdled in his stomach. For the moment she had a cold, but what if she got worse, became seriously ill? What if he lost her?

His voice broke at the thought, and he gave up on the book, resting his hand on her forehead to see if her temperature was rising. To him she felt no warmer, but it was little consolation. "Please watch over my Belle," he prayed, unable to take his hands off of her even long enough to cross himself properly, "Please heal her. Make her well again. Please help my Belle. Please don't take her away from me."

The sound of a knock on the door interrupted his prayer, and he sighed, carefully easing Belle's head off his lap so he could answer it before the noise woke her. He pressed a tender kiss to her forehead, "I'll be right back, angel."

Mrs. Kelsey was on the other side of the door, a brown paper bag in her arms that she promptly handed to him. "How is she?"

Joseph had mentioned Belle in his prayers during the service that day, asking healing for her as well as several other members of the parish, and he was touched that Mrs. Kelsey had thought to check on her. "She has a fever, but she's resting."

"Best thing for her," the older woman assured him briskly as she indicated the bag in his hands, "There's tomato soup in there for today. I'll drop another batch off tomorrow. Oh, that's mine."

He glanced down at the skein of yarn at the top of the bag as she retrieved it and a pair of knitting needles. "If you need help, just call," she said sternly, and he could barely find the words to express his gratitude. For all that he would like nothing more than to fulfill all of Belle's needs himself, Joseph knew that wasn't possible, and it was a relief to know that she had other people who cared about her.

Although Mrs. Kelsey's brief visit had been pleasant enough, he still hoped no one else would drop by or need his services that day. Anything that took him from his angel's side for even a moment was a burden. Changing into his pajamas, he climbed under the blankets with Belle, feeling her shiver as he wrapped himself around her in hopes that the heat from his body would do more to comfort her than the blankets. Later he'd make her more tea and heat the soup for her. Perhaps she'd even feel well enough to venture downstairs.

Joseph let that hope soothe him as he rested his cheek against her hair, praying silently for her health. Belle would soon be well again. He would allow nothing else.

She seemed stronger every day, and he plied her with tea and Mrs. Kelsey's soup to hasten her healing along. It was good to care for his angel, to look after her the way she took care of him while he'd gone through withdrawal. He read to her, talked to her, hummed hymns as she dozed, and she snuggled into him with absolute trust, relying on him to watch over her.

It took four days before her fever dissipated completely, and he kept her to the house for another two just to be safe, Belle submitting to his overprotectiveness with good humor.

"I worry," he admitted with an embarrassed smile once he finally- reluctantly- deemed her recovered enough go about her normal tasks.

"You're sweet," she assured him, leaning up to kiss his cheek, and it took all his strength to keep from catching her mouth with his own. He couldn't do that yet, not until tomorrow, and the wait was nearly unbearable.

After forty-eight years of celibacy, it shouldn't have been difficult to abstain; he was used to it. Instead there was never a moment his body didn't crave his angel. He thought about her every moment of every day, remembering the sweetness of her lips against his, the warm heaven of her embrace, the bliss of being buried in her, as close as any two people could be. It was that closeness he longed for more than anything. The physical pleasure was astonishing, but when he was inside Belle and gazing into her eyes, Joseph felt like he could touch her very soul, her light washing away all the darkness in him.

"Do you want me to come with you?" he asked hopefully as she gathered her purse and coat, the October day bright and brisk. Belle had decided to do her rounds on foot, wanting some fresh air after her week of being homebound. Some of their parishioners found it easier to talk to Belle instead of him, and they'd gotten into the habit of doing the rounds separately one day a week to give them the chance to do just that.

"You have things to do," she reminded him, and he had to agree that she was correct. He'd barely left her side in the week she'd been ill, and he needed to catch up. Still, he hated the thought of letting her out of his sight.

"Do you have your phone?" He fussed with the collar of her coat, straightening it and lifting her hair from beneath.

"_Yes_, Joseph," she assured him with affectionate exasperation, and he had to let her go as much as he loathed the thought.

He dipped his head to steal a quick kiss and escorted her to the door, leaning against the doorframe to watch her until she'd moved out of sight. Only then did he retrieve his own coat and set off in the opposite direction to fulfill his duties.

It was nearly dark by the time he made it home, and despite his hopes, Belle still wasn't back. That wasn't unusual, but her illness combined with the rain that was starting to come down left him on the verge of panic. He paced the living room, trying not to stare at the phone as he willed it to ring and tell him where she was. Finally, he gave in and opened the front door, straining his eyes in the gloom for a glimpse of his angel.

He sighed in relief at the sight of her small figure hurrying toward the house, her purse held protectively over her head to ward off the rain. Without thinking, he grabbed an umbrella and dashed out to meet her, jogging half a block before he could hold it over her head.

"Baby, where's your coat?" Belle scolded, and he realized he'd forgotten to put it back on in his haste to shield her from the rain. With an indulgent shake of her head, Belle took the umbrella from him and held it over both of them. They were already sodden, but Joseph decided it was the thought that counted. He wrapped his arm around her waist as they huddled together, making their way back to the house as quickly as possible.

As soon as they were inside, he peeled the wet coat off of her, feeling her shivering beneath his fingertips. "We need to get you warmed up. You'll get sick again." Catching her hand in his, he led her upstairs, meaning to settle her in a hot bath so she could warm up properly. He'd bring her a cup of tea while she soaked, and maybe she'd let him sit with her for a little while. An idea struck him and he shivered; maybe she'd let him wash her hair for her.

Belle caught the shiver and frowned. "You're cold too."

"I'm fine," he hastened to assure her, but she looked far from convinced. He released her hand and turned on the water, carefully adjusting the temperature so it would warm her but not be too hot for her delicate skin. She'd bought a bottle of bubble bath, and he retrieved it from the shelf, pouring a generous measure under the running tap.

Gentle hands rubbed his back through his wet shirt, and he gasped, his body responding to his angel despite his own discomfort. As he turned to face her, Belle nodded her head at the tub. "We could share," she suggested tentatively, and he gaped at her. Their six days didn't start until tomorrow, but she was inviting him to bathe with her.

"Yes!" he answered, his voice a bit too loud in the quiet room, and Belle smiled at him, her fingers going to work on his shirt as he busied himself with getting her wet things off of her.

The bathtub wasn't large, but neither of them was exactly tall, and they fit well enough, Belle sitting between his legs and leaning back against his chest as he scooped handfuls of hot water to pour over her exposed shoulders. He was aroused- he couldn't help it, not with his angel so close- but it was more of a pleasant warmth than an aching demand. Belle laced their fingers together, pulling his arms around her more tightly as he nuzzled at the side of her face.

"How did it go today?" he asked, and it somehow felt natural to discuss their parishioners even as their naked bodies pressed against each other. It was what they did; it was part of them. Being of service was as much a part of their relationship as the touching.

"It went well," she told him, snuggling back into his embrace. "I'm worried about the Bakers though. Mr. Baker lost his job, and I think that things are getting pretty tight financially."

He hummed a little, thinking. "Ethan Ross mentioned wanting to hire more help for the restaurant. It's not his field but-"

"It would do as a stopgap," Belle agreed, completing the thought for him. Turning in his arms, she brushed a kiss against his lips, "Good thinking."

More than anything, _this_ was what he craved. It was the closeness he needed, even more than the lovemaking. Joseph had never had anything like this before: someone to discuss his ideas with, to finish his sentences, and share private jokes with. Having never had that, he'd never felt the lack, but now he didn't know how he'd ever be able to live without it. Belle was the best friend he'd ever had, and the world was so much better with her at his side. He had a companion for the first time in his life, a partner and helpmeet. He _belonged_ to someone.

They snuggled together, debriefing the day, until the water started to grow uncomfortably cool, gooseflesh rising on Belle's arms. "We should get out," he said reluctantly, hating to let their moment end.

"We should rinse off," Belle said, flicking her finger against a bit of dried soap on his arm, a leftover from the depleted bubbles. Using her toes, she pulled the stopper out of the drain, and his mouth went dry as she stood up, water sluicing off her body.

Belle pulled the shower curtain closed and looked at him expectantly until he clambered awkwardly to his feet, the water quickly draining out of the tub. She turned the shower on, angling the spray away from them until she'd gotten the temperature adjusted to her liking, then hot water flowed over them. "Turn around, baby," she coaxed, "I'll wash your back."

They still had another night until their six days started, but there was a husky note to her voice that his body responded to immediately, and Joseph quickly turned to face the shower wall to hide his excitement in case he'd misjudged her intention. Her hands swept over his back, warm and slippery with soap, and he arched into the touch with a low groan as she caressed every inch of him, even dipping lower to squeeze his ass in her soapy grip.

Her warm body pressed against his as she stepped closer, her hands snaking around him to wash his chest, slick fingers finding every sensitive place he had. "Belle..." he moaned, sweat breaking out over his body and washing away in the spray.

Responding to the plea in his voice, Belle wrapped her hand around his straining cock, washing him tenderly as her other hand cradled his balls. Joseph braced his hands against the wall to keep from falling as she fondled him, her breath warm against his shoulder, and he ground his teeth as pleasure surged wildly through his body.

One hand slipped lower, and his eyes rolled back in his head as she rubbed him with two fingers. He hadn't even known he was sensitive there, but Belle's touch had him panting for release in a matter of moments. Grunting, he tried to force it back, unwilling to spill his seed against the shower wall. That was for her so they could make their baby.

In desperation, he rounded on her, reaching out blindly for the soap and working up a lather on his own hands before he allowed them to roam her body. He filled his hands with her breasts, and her nipples pebbled for him at once. At this sign of desire, Joseph groaned, dropping to his knees in front of her to bathe her with his tongue, suckling at the sweet pink tips with religious fervor.

Belle's fingers stroked his hair, and he slid his hand between her thighs, wondering if he could get the right angle to use his mouth on her. If she leaned back against the wall, he thought he could manage it, but before he could suggest it she joined him on the floor of the shower, straddling his lap.

His cock throbbed at the sight of his angel astride him, and he nearly howled as she took him in hand. "Yes?" she asked, her eyes searching his face as though she thought he might protest the new position.

"_Yes_," he gasped out, pleading for consummation. She was going to let him. It wasn't one of their six days, and she was going to _let him_.

With a smile and a kiss, Belle carefully lowered herself down onto him, taking him deeper than he'd ever been. Water poured over their bodies as she started to move slowly, the pair of them making love in their own private oasis.

He wrapped his arms around her waist to support her weight, not wanting her to tire herself as she rose and fell on him, her breasts bouncing in a way that made his fingers itch and mouth go dry. In this position he couldn't do much more than rock his hips up to meet her, but Belle didn't seem to mind, setting a driving pace as she clung to his shoulders to support herself, their lips meeting in an endless chain of drugging kisses.

It lasted an eternity and not long enough. Joseph was too close to hold on much longer, and he slid his hand around to stroke her just above the place where their bodies joined. She trembled in his arms, crying out as she rippled around him, and he echoed her, spilling his seed within her in a glorious rush of sensation.

They remained cuddled together until the hot water ran out. Belle squawked, jumping off of him to cut off the spray and he barely managed to catch her as she slipped, nearly falling. With a nervous laugh, he clutched her close, his heart racing at the near-miss, but she seemed unperturbed.

He hadn't quite managed to wash her hair, but she let him dry it for her, the act of drying each other off almost more intimate than their lovemaking. Back in the bedroom, he pulled on a pair of pajama pants, coming up empty when he reached for his shirt only to find Belle pulling it over her head with a mischievous smile. "You look beautiful."

When he tried to pull her toward the bed, she shook her head. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving." He was starving for her, but food wasn't a bad idea either, and he followed her downstairs, starting a pot of tea while Belle made sandwiches.

As he waited for the kettle to boil, Joseph watched his angel, his shirt just barely preserving her modesty. Belle always looked beautiful, but in his shirt she was _breathtaking_, his every fantasy come to life. Her wearing his clothes connected them, told anyone who might look on her that they belonged together, were a matched set. Of course, no one was likely to see her like this.

Swallowing hard, he imagined her dressed not in his tee shirt but in his usual black shirt and white collar, clad in the symbol of his office. Like that, she would be the embodiment of his faith- his calling and the reason for it all bundled into one miraculous package. To make love to her like that would be like touching Heaven itself, and he wondered if he dared ask her to wear it for him. Belle couldn't wear his ring, but in his collarino she would broadcast their relationship.

After their meal they collapsed on the worn sofa, her head resting against his shoulder as they spooned together. Joseph drew pictures on her stomach with his index finger, smiling as the touch made her giggle. Everything in the world he wanted was here in his arms. Belle laughed more now. Some of the shadows were going out of her eyes, and he wasn't sure if it was because of his touch or because she was so close to having the child that she wanted, but either way, he was fulfilling his mission. He was helping his angel.

If they could only remain like this forever, everything would be perfect. He splayed his hand over her belly, imagining that he could feel their child there. Perhaps they'd already started a baby and just didn't realize it yet. Perhaps their family was already growing.

For the first time in his life, everything made sense. He'd been put on this earth to help people, to love Belle and give her children, and to make her happy. That he should find such joy was his reward for obeying God's will.

Still, a small selfish part of him hoped that they hadn't made a baby just yet. It was wrong of him, so very wrong to hope that Belle's dream hadn't come true, but Joseph could never forget that their time together was limited. Once Belle had her child, she'd leave him, and although he'd still be able to see her, it wouldn't be the same.

He didn't want to see her on weekly or biweekly visits. He wanted to share a home with her, share a life, share _everything_. He wanted her with him constantly, wanted to luxuriate in his angel's presence. He begrudged every moment they had to be apart. He could scarcely bear to go an afternoon without seeing her; how would he ever manage to survive days without her touch and sweet smile to give him strength? He would have beautiful memories to comfort him, but Joseph didn't want memories. He wanted Belle.

If she wasn't yet pregnant, he wouldn't yet have to give her up. He would be able to keep her just a little longer. All he wanted was more time with her. It wasn't too much to ask- to be with his angel always, to take care of her and make her happy. Barring that, he was desperate for every moment he could have, hoarding memories against the time when he had to give her up. He didn't even have a picture of Belle, and he resolved to buy a camera the next day to remedy that.

Joseph slipped his hand beneath her shirt- _his_ shirt- to caress her bare skin. Dimly, he wondered if she'd let him have her here in the living room. Until tonight they'd confined their activities to the bedroom, but he wanted her _here_. He wanted her in every room so that everywhere he looked he could remember them together, relive these perfect moments.

Belle sighed and rolled over, pressing a kiss to his chest. "Did you like that? Earlier?" she asked softly, and the mere thought of it made him shiver.

"_Very_ much," he assured her, his voice husky.

She smiled up at him, looking a little shy, and he twined a lock of her hair around his finger, enchanted. "You didn't mind? That I was on top?"

Mind? He'd been speechless with gratitude. To have his angel on top of him, taking pleasure from him exactly how she wanted it... Nothing had ever been more erotic. "I don't know," he pretended to ponder the question, "We might have to try it a few more times so I can decide."

Her bright smile lit the room, and she giggled softly, leaning up to kiss him. Joseph was content to follow where she led, taking what she'd give him and giving her everything she would accept. While he loved being on top of Belle and feeling their bodies pressed together as intimately as possible, this was beautiful too. His hands were free to wander, to touch every inch of his angel. He could kiss her breasts, worship her with his mouth as she moved above him, her rhythm relaxed and unhurried.

This wasn't about the baby anymore; this was about _them_- friends and lovers and everything in between. He couldn't let her go, would never be able to let her go. Being with Belle was best part of his life, and he loved her more than anything. Even more than he loved God, Joseph loved her.

As he neared his climax, he could feel something tugging at the back of his mind, an idea that demanded attention even as his focus centered on the way Belle's breathing grew ragged, her blue eyes dazed with pleasure as he thrust up to meet her. He smothered her cry with his mouth, drinking down every wondrous sound as she clenched around him, and he lasted only a scant handful of thrusts longer before following her into ecstasy.

As they nestled together in the aftermath, his hands stroking her back tenderly as she pressed tiny kisses to his heaving chest, the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place. This was why he'd been called. This was God's plan for his life. He'd been called into service so he could meet Belle, help her, fall in love with her, and marry her. The Father had never intended for him to remain a priest forever, just until now. He could still help others if he left the priesthood behind; Belle did it every day.

Finally he _understood_, and relief brought tears to his eyes. He wasn't turning his back on his calling; he was fulfilling God's plan. He could resign with no guilt and still do good work in the world. He could be a husband and a father and a good man, and he could have forever with his angel.

"Are you all right?" Belle's worried voice broke through his contemplation, and it wasn't until her fingers brushed a tear away from his cheek that he realized he was crying.

"Better than," he assured her, pulling her up for a kiss feverish in its intensity. Everything was going to be all right now. They were going to be married.

It was too soon to propose, and he had to bite his tongue to keep the words from flying out of his mouth. He had to prove himself worthy first, prove that he could give her a child. Only then could he ask her to be his.

Joseph hoped that Belle would stop holding them to the six day schedule after that, but she gracefully evaded his tentative advances on day seven. Instead he tried to channel his desires into a constructive path. He'd need to propose properly, and that meant he needed a ring.

For a priest to buy an engagement ring required advance planning worthy of James Bond, but he did his best. In order to get the correct size, he slipped a length of string into the pocket of his pajama pants, wrapping it around the third finger of Belle's left hand as she slept and carefully tying it into a loop. With trembling fingers, he compared it to the wedding ring she wore around her neck, trying not to touch the ring itself. She hadn't given him permission, and it seemed wrong to lay his fingers on it without her knowledge.

He borrowed her car on a day she was having her monthly get-together with the other parish widows and drove three towns away, his coat hiding most of his clothing as he sought out a jewelry store. With his collar unbuttoned and the coat closed, he looked like an ordinary man.

The shopkeeper seemed nice enough, but he was still mortified when he presented his bit of string and pathetically small savings for her inspection. Her kind smile never wavered as she presented him with a tray of rings to select from, and sweat beaded on his brow as he tried to figure out what Belle would like.

There was one ring that kept catching his eye: three diamonds neatly spaced in a gold band. The stones were small, but they seemed to sparkle more brightly than the other rings. More than that, the symbolism appealed to him. The trio of diamonds reflected the Holy Trinity that had brought them together. It honored the other two men who had come before him in Belle's heart. It represented the two of them and the child they would soon have- their family. It was perfect.

Bank account emptied and prize in hand, Joseph returned home, wondering where he could put the ring box so Belle wouldn't find it. His instinct was to carry it with him, keep it close, but the fear of losing it prevented that. As a rule his important possessions- his rosary and Bible, the picture of his parents- remained on top of his dresser, but then she'd see it. In the end, he stuck it in the pocket of one of his jackets that was hanging in the closet. Belle had already pressed it, so she had no reason to do anything with it until he'd worn it. As long as he remembered to move the box before he wore it, it should remain a secret.

It was hard to keep his mind on his work, especially as their six days neared. All he wanted to do was think about Belle, to remember the sweetness of her lips against his, the warmth of her hands on him, and the beautiful noises she made as he made love to her. It would be better once they were married and could make love whenever they wanted. He'd be able to make love to her every single day, and the thought made him shudder.

There was a potluck luncheon scheduled during the first of their six days, which Joseph considered exceptionally poor planning. Making it through a service and confession was hard enough, but to be expected to socialize when he could think of nothing but burying himself in his angel bordered on torture. Still he gave himself credit for keeping it together until an hour in when he spotted something that made his stomach curdle. Across the room, Belle was talking to Ben.

The logical side of him pointed out that there was nothing wrong in Belle speaking to one of their parishioners, but the primitive side of him insisted that there was something _exceptionally_ problematic about his angel laughing with her ex-boyfriend. Jealousy, hot and acidic, surged through his veins, and he shoved his hand into his pocket in an effort to hide the fact it was fisted so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.

He watched them out of the corner of his eye as he struggled to make small talk. The urge to stake his claim on Belle was blinding. He could do it. There was nothing stopping him from walking over there and kissing her in front of everyone. He could slide his arm around her waist and kiss her cheek then her mouth. He would kiss her softly, nothing lewd, a gentle kiss that was just enough to tell everyone that they belonged together, that they belonged _to_ each other.

It would be completely inappropriate, and Belle would not appreciate such a display. He was still a priest, and she was not yet his wife, and this had to remain their secret for a little while longer. Even so, he trembled with the need to kiss his angel, to remind himself that she was his.

He needed a moment to pull himself together before he lost his mind and kissed her anyway, secrecy be damned. Excusing himself, he left the hall, walking down the corridor until the noise faded a bit and leaned against the wall as he tried to regulate his breathing.

"Father?" For all that she'd always called him that in public, that form of address still sounded wrong on Belle's tongue. Desperation filled him as she came closer, and he caught her hand, yanking her into the nearby broom closet.

Belle squeaked with surprise as he shut them in, wishing the door locked. It opened inward, but there would be hell to pay if anyone caught them in it. Joseph couldn't bring himself to care. He pressed Belle against the door, plastering himself against her as he buried his face against her throat. "I hate it when you call me that."

"Baby," she murmured, gently massaging the back of his neck, and the touch inflamed him instead of soothing.

"My angel," he gasped, seizing her mouth in a fierce kiss. She parted her lips in welcome, stroking his tongue with hers, giving him what he needed, and it still wasn't enough. "I hate it when you talk to him," he muttered against her lips.

"We were just talking," she assured him, offering another kiss.

They'd dated for two months. Surely Ben had kissed her too. Joseph had never allowed himself to think about it before, but now he could think of nothing else. Ben had kissed his angel, knew what her mouth tasted like, felt her body pressed against him, and he growled into her mouth, grinding his hard cock against her belly, wanting to stake his claim.

He fondled her breast through her dress, jealousy coursing through him. "Did you let him do this?" he heard himself demanding, and Belle immediately shook her head.

"Never, baby," she vowed, cupping him through his trousers, and he nearly bit through his tongue.

"Did you let him make love to you?" Without conscious thought, his hands slipped under her skirt, pulling her knickers down. From the hall came a burst of noise, reminding him where they were, but he couldn't seem to stop.

"Never, baby," Belle told him, her hands working between them to free his cock, and there was no way he could stop now.

He lifted her, pinning her between himself and the door, and Belle wriggled in his arms, getting them lined up. Reaching down, she guided him into her, and he groaned loudly as he buried himself to the hilt in his angel in one smooth thrust. She covered his mouth, muffling the frantic noises he couldn't seem to suppress as he moved within her. This was theirs. She and Ben had never shared this.

He thrust hard, harder than he should have, but he couldn't hold himself back. Belle arched against him, then muffled her own cry of pleasure against his shoulder, and he came in a desperate rush, filling her with his seed. "Please... please..." he panted, praying inarticulately that this time it would take root within her. He had to plant a baby in his Belle. Only then could he make her his wife.

Walking back into the hall after he'd gotten himself back together was terrifying. Joseph was convinced everyone would be able to tell exactly what he'd been doing, and while daydreaming about kissing his angel in public was one thing, having everyone know he'd been making passionate love to her only meters away was quite different.

To his relief, no one batted an eye, and he tried not to notice Belle's reappearance some minutes later. Her eyes were bright, but otherwise there was no evidence of what they'd been doing, and the urge to kiss her publicly was back with a vengeance.

'Please, Father. Please give us a child,' he prayed as he started to clean up the detritus, the luncheon winding down at last. 'Let us conceive. Let me make her mine.'


	14. Chapter 13

The first snow storm of the season hit out of nowhere, bringing with it the realization that the heat at the rectory was not exactly reliable. Joseph said Mass for a congregation of ten, then came home to join her in the nest of blankets she'd made on the couch, his cold nose pressed against her throat. The church wasn't much warmer, and although she had a call in to a repairman, it would probably be a few days. Someone would be by later to dig them out, and once the car was free, Belle had decided she was buying them both flannel pajamas. In the meantime, they'd have to make do with blankets and tea.

"What do you want for Christmas, baby?" she asked idly, the snow having reminded her that the holidays were fast approaching. Belle liked Christmas; it reminded her of the winter festivals of her youth. In Storybrooke, they'd celebrated a combination of the two, mixing and matching traditions indiscriminately, a blend of their real and curse-provided memories. Even on Destiny, which hadn't lent itself to celebrations, they'd found a way to do something special on that day. She wondered what Joseph's traditions were.

He looked puzzled by the question. "You mean, like a present?" he asked doubtfully, as though the idea of receiving a Christmas present was a foreign concept.

"Sure," she agreed, trying to think of what he might like. Joseph didn't have much in the line of worldly possessions, but it had never seemed to bother him. "Or is there something you'd like to do?"

Beneath the blanket he captured her hand, playing with her fingers. "Could we spend it together? I mean, a proper Christmas," he hastened to explain, "Maybe get a tree?"

He sounded so wistful at the idea that her heart broke a little. "We can do whatever you want, baby."

"I'd like that," he confessed, his grip on her hand tightening, "My mum used to decorate our house. She died when I was sixteen. After that we didn't bother anymore."

Joseph had never spoken much about his parents before, and Belle snuggled closer to him, offering whatever comfort her presence could provide.

"My father died two years later. It was better that way though. He missed her." Joseph nuzzled at her hair. "It's been a long time since I did Christmas. I want to though. I want to with you."

"It was just you?" she asked quietly, "No brothers or sisters?"

"Just me," he confirmed, and she closed her eyes, pulling him closer. It wasn't hard to imagine a young Joseph, barely more than a child, suddenly left with no family, no support system, nothing but his faith. No wonder he'd needed the church so badly. No wonder he'd been so hurt when it didn't work out as he thought it would.

"My mother died right after I was born," she offered, giving him another piece of her past, "I never knew her. My father and I were close though. I lost him shortly after I married." Maurice had been another victim of the war against Regina. He died bravely, but it was small comfort.

"Angel..." he murmured, his voice rich with sympathy as he kissed her forehead. "I'm glad my parents didn't live to see what happened to me. The drinking. I wish they could have met you though. They would have loved you."

Maurice wouldn't have known what to make of Joseph. A gentle priest was far out of his realm of experience, but she liked to think that he would have approved. "I'm sure they'd be proud of you, baby. I wish I could have known them."

After that, Belle threw herself into giving Joseph the proper Christmas he'd requested. A rummage through the attic unearthed a few ancient boxes of decorations, the vast majority of which were either falling apart or hideous, and except for the Nativity that she thought she could salvage, she opted to start from scratch.

It was still too early to get a tree, but she all but cleaned out a few local stores to make sure they'd have ornaments for it once they found one. Colorful glass balls, twinkling lights, and a variety of woodland creatures mixed with an assortment of angels and stars would make for a happy mishmash. Joseph seemed especially pleased by the angel she'd chosen as a tree topper. "She looks like you."

Selecting his present was harder. Mrs. Kelsey was teaching her to knit, and she was proud of how the hunter green scarf she was making him was coming out, but she needed something more than that. As far as she could tell, no one had given Joseph a Christmas present since he was sixteen, and she wanted to do something special.

Much as she wished it otherwise, she couldn't stay with Joseph forever, not if she wanted him safe. Still, she could give him something to hold onto, a talisman to remind him that he was loved. The antique gold pocket watch was a solid piece, a tangible reminder that he wasn't alone. Belle had it engraved with part of a verse she'd heard him reference several times during service. "Do not fear; for I am with you." Part of her would always remain with Joseph, just as she would carry part of his heart with her, just as his god was always with him. She hoped it would be enough.

He helped her with the decorations, wrapping garlands of holly around anything that would stand still as she turned lengths of red velvet ribbon into bows. Belle enjoyed the work, but she realized she'd been overdoing it when she stood up and her head swam. She dropped the bow as Joseph's arm went around her waist, pulling her against him. "Angel?" He sounded panicked.

"I'm all right," she assured him, blinking as the dizziness slowly faded, "Just stood up too fast."

"You're working too hard," he scolded, sitting her down and lifting her feet onto the couch so she could recline. "I'll get you a glass of water."

The rest and cool water helped, but even after a good night's sleep, Belle still felt light-headed, and a quick look in the mirror told her how pale she was. She wasn't running a temperature, and she didn't get any worse, but the dizzy spells persisted for the next week.

At Joseph's insistence she took it easy, letting him drive when they went to pick out their Christmas tree. He'd been leery about even letting her out of the house, but she didn't feel ill exactly. She didn't even feel _bad_, just strange and fuzzy-headed. That didn't seem to reassure him.

She was grateful for the support of his arm as they selected their tree, choosing one just the slightest bit too full for the small living room, but if Joseph hadn't had a tree in over thirty years, she wanted to make sure this one was impressive. Although he'd been cheerful while they chose their tree, he went quiet as it was being strapped to the roof of the car, and Belle followed his eyes to see a young couple just entering the lot, and it was immediately obvious what had attracted his attention. The woman was pregnant.

Hugging his arm, she leaned her head against his shoulder just for a moment to offer comfort when a possible reason for her dizziness suddenly came to mind. For all that they'd been trying to conceive for five months, somehow the thought of pregnancy hadn't occurred to her until now. She wasn't having any bouts of sickness, just dizziness, but it was a possibility.

As they drove home and wrestled the tree into the house, Belle tried to calculate the odds. She wasn't due for her period for another few days. If it didn't come, they'd have cause for hope.

The only real question was whether to tell Joseph about her suspicions. While he'd be thrilled, she hated the thought of disappointing him if it was just a false alarm. Reluctantly, she decided to keep her anticipation to herself, trying to behave normally. Christmas was a time for secrets, and she much preferred the idea of presenting him with good news instead of possibly getting his hopes up and then dashing them.

Decorating the tree gave her something else to focus on, and she was grateful for it. It took them four tries to get the lights evenly wrapped around the tree, and she pretended not to hear Joseph cursing under his breath as the light strings kept tangling, refusing to go where he wanted them to. Eventually they got things sorted out, and she was very pleased with the effect as he plugged the tree in and she switched off the overhead light.

"It's so pretty!" She and Rumpelstiltskin had always had a tree, but that had been a decade ago. Belle had almost forgotten how much she liked them. There hadn't been much to decorate on Destiny.

Joseph wrapped his arms tightly around her, sounding like he was on the verge of tears as he said, "It's perfect."

They hadn't even put the ornaments on it yet, but Belle had to agree. They'd chosen it together, lit it together, and that made it perfect. In her mind's eye, she could see years of such moments ahead of them- trees and holidays and laughter as they tried to keep the baby from chewing on the ornaments. Sighing, she hugged him close. If only they could have that life.

As they snuggled together on the sofa, sipping hot chocolate by the glow of the tree, Belle's hand strayed to her abdomen, and she allowed herself to fantasize that this was real. She pretended that there was no curse, no vows keeping them apart; it was just her and Joseph and their baby, and they'd have a lifetime to spend together, years of peace and happiness. The decorations would get more elaborate every year as they added to their collection, and each ornament would have a memory attached to it, a perfect moment forever immortalized. They'd be a family, and for once she'd be able to keep the people she loved.

It was a beautiful dream, and she clung to it as long as she could, burying her face against Joseph's neck. "Angel..." he murmured, his hand tenderly stroking her hair, "Are you all right?"

"Just hold me," she whispered, and he immediately pulled her closer, resting his cheek on the crown of her head.

"Always," he vowed, and she stifled a sob. Dreams didn't come true- that was a lesson she'd learned again and again- but in moments like this it seemed so very unfair that they didn't.

The next day the dizziness was gone, departing as suddenly as it came. It made decorating the tree easier, but Belle felt half-sick at the change. She'd been hopeful that they'd conceived, but it seemed she'd jumped to conclusions. At least she hadn't told Joseph; he'd be devastated.

As the day passed, it grew harder and harder to stay in control of her emotions. It was foolish to feel so upset by this setback, but she couldn't help but think that every month she didn't conceive put her one step closer to never conceiving at all. Trying not to think about it, Belle put all her attention into hanging ornaments, making certain that each one was in the absolute best spot. If she didn't focus on that, she felt like she'd fall apart. Even so, tears were threatening, and Joseph looked worried.

"Belle, stop," he murmured, gently pulling her away from the tree and plucking the porcelain star out of her hand to place it on the coffee table, "Stop a second. Please."

He sat down on the sofa and tugged her into his lap, wrapping himself around her as best he could. "Talk to me, angel," he pleaded, "Tell me what's wrong."

Trying to stay in control, Belle held herself stiffly, fighting the tears that stung at her eyes. Joseph pressed a kiss to her temple, his thumb caressing the side of her face, and the gentle touch broke her. Sobbing, she burrowed into his embrace, and he rocked her, murmuring words of comfort and reassurance, "It's all right, angel. I've got you. I've got you. I won't let you go."

The entire story spilled out in bits and pieces. "Yesterday, I thought... Maybe the dizziness meant I was pregnant. That's a symptom. Today it's just... gone. It's stupid, but I really thought... I really thought..."

"Oh, angel..." he breathed, "I'm _sorry_."

He rubbed her back while she cried herself out, whispering into her hair, "We'll keep trying, angel. It's only been a few months. We'll just... keep trying."

"What if I can't?" she voiced the thought that had been plaguing her for the last month. She was thirty-six, not ancient, but old enough, and between the years of magical stagnation in Storybrooke and borderline malnutrition on Destiny, it wasn't hard to believe she'd done permanent damage to her reproductive system. "What if I can't get pregnant?"

"Then we'll think of something else," Joseph assured her immediately. "There's a lot of kids out there who need a home. We'll find one."

He said it with such confidence that Belle found herself believing him. Even if they couldn't have a baby of their own, there were other options. "Besides," he continued, "God gave Sarah and Abraham a son when she was ninety. I think our odds are better than that."

Belle muffled a watery laugh against his shoulder. Compared to that, thirty-six wasn't bad at all. They snuggled together until she felt a little calmer, returning to the tree in better spirits.

One of the few remaining barriers between them had crumbled with her teary confession. No longer were they two people trying to help each other; they were a couple. Even if it could only last a few months, they were a pair, and there was no point in fighting it any longer.

Joseph reached around her to hang a small wooden turtle on one of the upper branches, and she gave in to temptation, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. He smiled at the touch, ducking his head a little bashfully, and she stole another, sweeping her tongue over his bottom lip.

With a groan, he opened his mouth for her, clutching her closer as they kissed in front of the tree. When they broke apart, Joseph's eyes were wide with surprise and hope. "Upstairs?" he asked breathlessly.

His face fell when Belle shook her head. "Here," she corrected, and his breath caught. Joseph switched off the overhead light as she took the afghan from the back of the sofa and spread it on the floor in front of the tree. The sofa would probably be more comfortable, the bed even more so, but she couldn't resist the impulse to make love bathed in the glowing lights from their first tree.

She lowered herself onto the afghan, and Joseph knelt in front of her, sliding his fingers into her hair to tilt her head back for a kiss. "Best Christmas ever," he murmured against her lips, and Belle giggled.

"And we still have two weeks to go," she reminded him as he lowered her onto the afghan, his fingers straying to the buttons of her pajama top.

"I'm going to need to open my present early," he teased, slowly undoing her buttons and ducking his head to kiss every bit of skin he revealed. Belle cradled his head, reveling in the heat of him. Joseph was warm and solid on top of her, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so safe, so cherished. This was so much more happiness than she'd ever expected to have again.

"But then it won't be a surprise," she replied in kind, gasping as his teeth scraped gently over her nipple.

"You never stop surprising me, angel. Never," he swore as his mouth closed over her breast, and Belle arched into him with a soft cry. Joseph had learned well in the months they'd been doing this, devoting himself to her pleasure, and she hoped she made him feel half as good.

He tugged off her pajama bottoms and kissed his way lower, but she used her hold on him to keep him from reaching his destination. "Angel?" he asked, looking concerned, and Belle shook her head, busying herself with pulling his tee shirt off over his head.

"I just want to feel you inside me," she explained, and he moaned, his mouth coming down on hers in a fierce kiss as he let his weight rest on her, and that was _exactly_ what she wanted. She ran her hands over his back and down to squeeze his ass as Joseph groaned into her mouth, thrusting instinctively against her belly. Wriggling, she moved to cradle him between her thighs, shoving his pajama pants down as far as she could with her hands before taking them the rest of the way off of him with her feet, suddenly urgent.

His hand strayed between her legs, teasing and stroking, checking to be certain she was ready for him, and she shifted impatiently, arching into him. "_Please_, baby."

"Oh yes," he breathed, pushing into her with one long, smooth stroke, "Yes, angel. Anything."

She clung to him, keeping him pressed against her as she claimed his mouth, wanting only to feel him everywhere, wanting to be completely encompassed by him. As though Joseph sensed what she needed, he barely moved, just rocked his hips a little, nudging against her.

It was slow and tender and perfect, and Belle's universe narrowed down to this moment. Nothing existed except for the gentle pressure of Joseph inside her, the warm weight of his body blanketing her, and the sound of his voice as he whispered words of love. Her own lips ached to share the sentiment, and Belle muffled the words against his mouth. If she said them, her curse would find him all the sooner.

Instead they kissed endlessly, and Belle couldn't bear to close her eyes, watching the way the tree's glittering lights bathed him in their glow. For all that Joseph shared a face with Rumpelstiltskin and Nick, he still managed to look so very different, kindness and innocence radiating from him. How she wished she was the angel he called her. If she was, she'd have the power to keep him always safe and protected.

When it came, her climax was warm and gentle too, her entire body tightening deliciously around him, drawing him so deep that she felt like he was part of her. Joseph shuddered in her arms, filling her his heat, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so complete.

They lay together for a blissful eternity, until the floor grew too hard for comfort, and they stumbled up the stairs together to tumble into bed, their mouths finding each other in the dark.

Their six day schedule had been irrevocably broken, and Belle couldn't find it in herself to care. It felt too good to be able to kiss Joseph whenever she wanted to, to respond to his caresses without worrying they were starting something that they couldn't finish. It was wonderful to be able to be with him in all ways, to surprise him with a kiss when they were alone in the church, to let him nibble cookie dough off her finger as she started on the Christmas baking, to be able to make love just because they wanted to and not because conception was the first thing on their minds.

Somehow she'd never realized how much Joseph liked kissing. During their six days, kissing had always led to lovemaking, but now that they didn't have to deny themselves, he reached for her frequently, pulling her into his arms or onto his lap and just indulging in her mouth. It felt like the greatest luxury imaginable to just kiss him for long minutes with no thought of anything else, to hear his soft moans of unalloyed pleasure, and to feel like the most loved woman in the world. Belle had never felt more adored than she did with Joseph.

She was so wrapped up in their shifting relationship, that it wasn't until a week before Christmas that she realized she hadn't bled.

Thanks to the stress and lacking nutrition on Destiny, her periods had been irregular, but since she'd returned to Earth, things had settled into a predictable rhythm. For her to be late was highly unusual.

Hope fluttered in her stomach, and she sprinted down the stairs as she heard the door open, signaling Joseph's return from Mass. "I'm late," she blurted, not even bothering with a greeting.

"For what?" he asked blankly, looking puzzled when she just stared at him, and Belle could see the moment her meaning registered, "Oh!"

He swept his gaze over her, the rest of him seeming frozen in the act of taking off his coat. "Do... do you feel all right? What do we do?"

She'd thought about this before, but her thoughts were so scattered that she could barely make a decision. "We need to buy a test," she said finally. "Not here." If she bought a pregnancy test in Middlesbrough, there was always the chance that someone they knew would see her, and all their secrecy would be for naught.

"I'll drive you," he said immediately, seeming to regain the use of his body as he shrugged his coat back on and took hers out of the closet, holding it for her. As she slid her arms into the sleeves, he settled it over her shoulders and wrapped his arms around her from behind, hugging her tightly. Belle covered his hands with her own, leaning into him as he buried his face against her neck, and she could feel how raggedly he was breathing.

They made the drive to the next town in near silence, only the radio softly playing Christmas carols providing background noise. For the life of her, Belle couldn't think what to say. She'd longed to be a mother for years, had spent months attempting to conceive, and now that she might be pregnant, she felt woefully unprepared.

Joseph found a chemist and offered to come in with her, but she waved him to stay in the car. It was too much of a risk for him to be seen with her doing this. Helplessly, Belle stared at the selection, wishing she'd bothered to do some research on which brand was most reliable. According to the boxes, they all were, and she finally tossed three different brands into her basket, adding a bottle of milk, a magazine, a can of shaving foam, and a plush snowman that played "Let it Snow" in hopes of distracting attention from her main purchase.

The cashier didn't even blink, just rang up the sale and wished her happy holidays as she fled the store, prizes neatly bagged. Once she returned to the car, Joseph looked a bit perplexed by her bulging bag, "What did you buy?"

She held up the snowman, squeezing its mittened hand to activate the song, nearly dropping it when its hat started to move in time to the music. "That's... nice," he said doubtfully when it had finished.

"I panicked," she admitted, and they stared at each other for a moment before his lips twitched, and they both found themselves laughing a bit hysterically. Once they calmed, Joseph took her hand and squeezed before devoting his attention to getting them home safely.

Back at the rectory, Belle put the milk away as Joseph gave the snowman a place of honor on the coffee table, and they turned their full attention to the pregnancy tests. Each box contained three tests, which she hadn't realized in the store, and she read the directions carefully, not that it seemed possible to do it incorrectly. In the end, she took one of each into the bathroom with her, shutting the door behind her for privacy even though she could see Joseph's shadow under the door as he hovered just outside.

Task complete, she lined the three tests up on the edge of the sink and joined Joseph in the bedroom to wait for the longest three minutes of her life to pass. He took her hands in his, bowing over them as he whispered a prayer, "Blessed Father, thank You for Your gifts. Please grant us this blessing. Please give us a child to love and shelter and raise to honor You. Amen."

She echoed him, burying herself in his embrace. "What if I'm not?"

"Then we'll keep trying," he soothed, stroking her hair. "We've got plenty of tests."

A muffled, snorting laugh escaped her, and he kissed the top of her head as she counted off the minutes and seconds in her head.

It seemed to take an eternity and, at the same time, no time at all until the moment of truth was upon them. Nervously, she met his eyes when the three minutes were up, and he pressed a tender kiss to her lips before helping her to stand up. Hand in hand they walked the short distance to the bathroom, hesitating in the doorway. "Want me to come in with you?" he offered, and Belle nodded, unable to speak as she clutched his hand tighter and took the final few steps.

All three tests were positive.

For a long moment, all she could do was struggle to remember how to make her lungs work, then she was in Joseph's arms and clinging to him for all she was worth as he hugged her so hard he actually lifted her off her feet. "_Belle_... angel... oh, thank You. _Thank You_," he sobbed into her hair, putting her down the second he realized her toes had left the floor.

She lifted her face for a kiss, tasting salt, and realized she was crying too, the sheer intensity of realizing she was going to be a mother overloading her emotions. Tears streamed down her face as a smile bloomed on her face, so wide that she had no choice but to break the kiss, "We're going to have a baby."

"Yes, we are," he agreed, beaming at her through his own tears. Then he was kissing her again, sweet and tender, as his hand strayed to her abdomen, pressing against the place where their baby grew.

They traded kisses until they eventually realized they were still in the bathroom, and stumbled back to the bedroom, all but falling onto the bed. Joseph pushed her hair back as he leaned over her, kissing her breathless, and Belle rested her hand on her flat stomach, not quite able to believe that she was going to be a mother at last.

Joseph sat up and pushed her shirt up, baring her stomach to his gaze. Leaning down, he pressed a tender kiss to her belly, his lips moving against her skin as he spoke to the baby, "Hello, little one. I'm your daddy."

Fresh tears pooled in Belle's eyes as she stroked his hair. Joseph continued, "I know you're still really little, but Mummy and I love you already. So very, very much. I can't wait to meet you."

He kissed her stomach again and looked up at her, face alight. "Thank you," she breathed, cradling his face in her hands, and he turned his head to kiss her palm.

"I should be saying that," he protested, voice hoarse. "Oh angel, you're... you're a miracle."

Belle pulled him down to lie beside her, rolling into his arms as his mouth found hers again and again, and nothing had ever felt more right. They weren't a pair anymore; they were a family and never before had she felt happier or more complete. This was where she belonged. This was _right_.

The thought of her curse crossed her mind, and she pushed it as far back as she could as Joseph whispered a benediction against her throat, "Father, please watch over Belle and keep her safe. Bless her and the baby and keep them in Your care, now and forever. Amen."

In that moment, it seemed impossible that she would ever have to leave him. Regina had taken so much from her; she wouldn't let her take this moment too. For now, she and Joseph were together, and they had the baby they'd longed for. Belle would think only about that. Reality would force itself back in soon enough. This time was _theirs._


	15. Chapter 14

_If you'd like more of Belle and Joseph, there's now a companion piece called "And Yet Again" where I'm putting some missing scenes that didn't fit into the main narrative. _

_Also... I'm sorry. However, this is not the last chapter.  
_

* * *

Joseph had never been happier. He couldn't wipe the smile off his face, his feet feeling like they barely touched the ground, and he concentrated on preaching about the joys of the season instead of doing what he _really_ wanted to do: stopping every person he met and informing them that he was going to be a daddy.

Symbolically, he'd been a father for years. His parishioners were his spiritual children, but he hadn't felt this fulfilled even when he'd been ordained. He and Belle had created life. For the first time in thirty years, Joseph was part of a family again- his Belle and their baby- and nothing had ever been more right.

It had taken every ounce of strength he had not to propose immediately once they saw the positive tests. Only the sense that it had to be special held him back. Belle would remember that moment for the rest of their life together, and he wanted to make it worth remembering. Instead he forced himself to wait for the right time: Christmas night in front of their tree. They'd spend the holiest of days together and pledge themselves to each other that night.

Although he'd never been happier or more excited, Joseph had also never been more worried. The information that he'd coaxed out of the computer told him that Belle would most likely feel ill, and he hated to think he'd be the cause of her suffering, even for such a good cause. He'd take exquisite care of her, make certain that she rested and had everything she needed.

He concentrated on the standard discomforts of pregnancy and filed away any information about what he could do to make her feel better instead of letting himself worry about the alternative. Surely God wouldn't be so cruel as to take their child from them. Belle had already lost so much; He wouldn't take the baby too. Joseph prayed until his lips felt chapped for Belle's health and that of the baby, for it to grow strong and well.

For her part, Belle seemed to be the picture of health. Her dizziness hadn't returned, and she hadn't complained of feeling any sickness or any aches or pains. Instead, she was a bundle of cheerful energy as she finished getting them ready for Christmas, and he trailed after her like a puppy, helping as much as she'd allow.

Only once did he leave her side, and that couldn't be helped. He'd had Belle's Christmas present for weeks- She liked tea and his tea set was a disgrace. He'd found her a beautiful ceramic teapot, all organic curves in the same brilliant blue of her eyes and a set of matching cups.- but he didn't have anything for the baby.

His first instinct was to buy a teddy bear, but he found himself gravitating to Belle's favorite used bookstore instead. She'd want to read to the baby, and what could be better than a book of fairy tales? He had a surprising number of choices, but one handsome leather volume caught his eye. It was embossed in gold and a quick flip through it showed him beautiful watercolor illustrations. It was perfect.

The bookseller wrapped it for him, and he slipped it under the tree to join the three other packages already there. One of them, he assumed, was Belle's gift to him, and Joseph couldn't imagine what she'd possibly found it necessary to buy. His angel had already given him everything he'd ever wanted. He had a family, and as long as he had her and their baby, he'd never want for anything again.

He'd run another errand while he was out. His letter of resignation had been sitting half-finished on his computer for the past month, but now that he and Belle were expecting, the words to finish it came easily. He loved her and the baby more than anything, even more than God. He had to leave the priesthood; it would have been dishonest to stay. When he dropped the letfer in the mail, he felt nothing but relief that the final obstacle keeping him from building a life with Belle would soon be out of the way.

On Christmas Eve, she came to Mass with him, taking her usual seat on the aisle near the front where he could look at her without being obvious about it. Belle looked beautiful in her green dress, her face aglow with motherhood and the wonders of the season. Joseph had chosen the most joyful of hymns and carols to lead the congregation through during the traditional period of celebration that started the Christmas Eve service, and as he sang, he couldn't help but picture them a year from now. They'd be in the congregation together, attending as parishioners, and they'd take turns holding the baby, the other members of the congregation smiling at their beautiful little family.

As he retold the Christmas story, he'd never before felt such sympathy for the other Joseph, desperate to care for his pregnant wife in the middle of a stressful situation, and he could hear the change in his delivery, the words taking on a power he'd never managed to imbue them with before as he reflected on what he would do for Belle in a similar situation. He'd do _anything_ for her safety and that of the baby, and he'd pray God would provide.

By the end he was near tears, and a look at the congregation told him he wasn't alone. In the church, husbands wrapped their arms around their wives, mothers held their children close, and Belle smiled tremulously at him through her tears, all of them living the moment with the holy family and the shepherds who were the first to share in their good news. When Joseph imagined becoming a priest, it was moments like this he'd envisioned but never experienced in truth until now, and once again Belle was at the center of it all.

"That was beautiful," she whispered to him afterward as they stood together to see off their parishioners, exchanging good wishes and words of thanksgiving.

Taking advantage of the leniency afforded by the season, he put his arm around her in a half-embrace, wishing he could simply throw all caution to the wind and kiss her then and there. Secrecy hardly mattered at this point; he wouldn't be a priest for much longer. At the same time, he didn't want anything to distract his flock from the service's message, and seeing their priest kiss his housekeeper would _definitely_ garner attention.

Reluctantly, he released her, comforting himself with the knowledge that they didn't have to keep their secret for much longer. In a matter of months, they'd be man and wife, and he'd be able to kiss his angel whenever he wanted with no thought of who might be watching. He'd be able to embrace her and hold her hand, and no one would think twice beyond smiling at how perfect they were together.

It was a relief to get home so he could hold her properly and kiss her senseless, right until she begged off with the explanation that her feet hurt. Instantly he swept her up in his arms, carrying her to the couch while she shrieked with laughter. He wasn't strong, but Belle was tiny, and it felt good to care for her so. Kneeling beside her, he beamed at her, his hand splayed against her flat stomach. Never had he felt so blessed.

"Actually, I was going to go upstairs and get changed," she teased him gently.

With a sense of dismay, he looked toward the stairs. Joseph was reasonably sure he could make it up the stairs with her, but 'reasonably sure' wasn't the same as 'positive' and the possibility of dropping her was too frightening to contemplate.

He compromised by holding her hand as they climbed the steps together, and he got into his own sleeping attire while Belle washed her face. She'd bought new pajamas for the occasion that had little candy canes on them, and he got them out for her while he waited, stroking the soft fabric.

The moment she entered the room, he jumped to his feet to unzip the back of her dress, nuzzling her throat as he did. "Sweet baby," she said fondly as he helped her slide out of it. Her stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly, making both of them laugh. "Why don't you put the kettle on? I'll be down in a couple of minutes."

"Tea?" he offered, surprised when she shook her head.

"Cocoa. And cookies," she decided, and even he could manage that.

With the tree lit and the radio softly playing Christmas carols, the setting couldn't be more perfect. He'd just finished putting some of Belle's cookies on a plate, the mugs of hot chocolate already on the coffee table when she came downstairs, curling up on the sofa to wait for him with a sweet smile on her face.

If her ring hadn't still been tucked away safely upstairs, he would have proposed that very moment. As it was, Joseph settled for snuggling with her on the sofa, his hands greedily stroking her through her soft pajamas. "You look so beautiful, angel," he murmured, his lips exploring her throat, and she tasted better than any cookie ever could.

She giggled, swiping a cookie and nuzzling into his embrace. "I thought men liked silk and lace," she teased, "You have a flannel fetish."

"What's wrong with that?" he asked lightly, tickling her just a little. He liked flannel. It was soft and warm, just like Belle, and much nicer to cuddle with than scratchy lace. "You always look beautiful. Always. But I'm the only one who gets to see you like this, so soft and sweet..." With a moan, he closed his mouth over the place where her neck met her shoulder and sucked gently, careful not to leave a mark.

"Nothing's wrong with that at all," she assured him, turning her head so he could kiss her properly, tasting chocolate on her lips. He kept his arms around her as she enjoyed her snack. She'd been eating more over the last week and sleeping just a little later, the effort of making their baby already affecting her physically. With a contented sigh, he slipped his hand under her pajama top to splay it over her stomach.

According to what he'd read, the baby was still incredibly small, perhaps the size of a lima bean, yet he already loved it so much he felt his heart would burst from it. Joseph couldn't wait until Belle started showing. To see his angel's body rounded with his child, to rest his hands on her belly and feel their baby move... nothing could be more miraculous than that.

Last year he'd spent this night gulping whiskey like it was water and praying desperately for something- _anything_- to save him. His only comfort was in trying to remember the Christmases he'd spent with his parents, and those memories grew more faded each year. Time stretched out before him looking bleak and cold, and he'd had nothing but long years of loneliness and failure to look forward to as God turned a deaf ear to his prayers.

However that ear hadn't been deaf at all. It had simply taken three more months for the Lord to answer him by placing Belle in his life. Now when Joseph imagined his future, it was so beautiful that it brought tears to his eyes. Instead of the barren wasteland he'd envisioned, he had years of joy and love to look forward to. He had _years_ to spend at his angel's side. Their child would grow and have the most wonderful life he could provide, and perhaps if Belle was willing, God would grant them more blessings, and they would build a home filled with love and laughter.

Belle's yawn snapped him out of his blissful contemplation, and he nudged her gently. "Time for someone to be in bed."

She smiled at him as he helped her to her feet. "Santa won't come unless we're asleep."

Chuckling, he escorted her upstairs, curling himself around her protectively. "I've already got my present," he whispered in her ear, his hand resting on her stomach as she snuggled into him. "I love you, angel."

Christmas morning dawned bright and clear, and Belle seemed to be in high spirits as well. She baked gingerbread muffins for their breakfast, and they snuggled together in front of the tree to eat. It was like something out of a storybook, and even the Christmases he remembered from his childhood hadn't been this perfect.

The second they were done eating, Belle scrambled off the sofa for the tree, depositing a pair of boxes in his lap, her eyes sparkling. "Maybe you can be patient, but I can't be," she informed him.

It took a moment for Joseph to register that both presents were for him. "Angel, you didn't have to-"

"It's _Christmas_," she overrode him.

"Don't you want to open yours first?" he protested, feeling a bit overwhelmed. It seemed unjust that he should have so much when others went without. Belle and the baby were all the gift he needed, all he would ever need.

"You do one, then I'll do one," she offered, nodding at the flat box to indicate that he should open that one first.

Joseph put the smaller, heavier box on the coffee table, looking down at Belle who was curled up on the floor and leaning against the sofa, watching him expectantly, her face giving no clue about what he would find within. The wrapping paper she'd chosen was green and had small cartoon reindeer on it, and he carefully untied the red bow, setting the ribbon aside before sliding his fingers under the tape to loosen it. It seemed a shame to tear the paper when she'd taken such care to wrap it.

The plain white box he unveiled revealed no hints, and he smoothed out the paper, placing it neatly on the floor. Belle was beaming at him, her hand half over her mouth to hide her smile, but she didn't seem to be laughing at him. He shook the box, but although he could hear something shift, it made no real noise. "Do I have to guess?"

"No, baby," she assured him, and he lifted the box's lid, taking out a lovely scarf in hunter green knit of the softest yarn he'd ever felt.

"It's beautiful," he praised, and she lit up.

"Mrs. Kelsey's been teaching me to knit. It's alpaca yarn. I hoped you'd like the color." From her position on the floor, she played with the end of the scarf, looking at it with professional pride.

"You made it?" he asked, making sure he'd heard her correctly. His breath caught when she nodded. Belle had knit the scarf just for him, had put her care and attention into each stitch, and it instantly took on the significance of a holy relict. It was a piece of her he could always keep with him. "Thank you, angel."

"You're welcome." She leaned up for a kiss, seemingly delighted by his reaction.

"Now yours," he prompted, draping the scarf over his shoulders so he didn't have to put it down as he fetched the large box that contained her present, sitting next to her on the floor as she examined it.

She shook it gently, and he winced, even though the contents were wrapped carefully enough that she should be able to drop it with no ill effects. Seeing his flinch, she stopped immediately and shook her head, "I haven't got a clue."

Unlike him, Belle made short work of the wrapping paper, and he held his breath as she opened the box beneath and dug through the foam inside to pull out the teapot. "Oh baby, it's lovely," she praised, planting a kiss on his cheek as she examined her present.

"The set we have is such a mess. I thought you might like..." he trailed off, relieved when she turned a dazzling smile on him.

"I think it's _perfect_," she said firmly, and he helped her unearth the four matching teacups and place the set in the middle of the coffee table where it was unlikely to get bumped.

Joseph had all but forgotten he had a second present to open until Belle handed it to him, and the gold pocket watch he unveiled nearly dropped out of his suddenly nerveless fingers. All he could do was gape at the watch which even his untrained eyes could identify as being exceptionally well-made.

"Baby?" Belle's voice seemed to be coming from a long way away. "I... I had it engraved. See?" She took the watch out of his hand and opened it before placing it back in his palm so he could read the sentiment. 'Do not fear, for I am with you.' Yes, she was, and he would never know fear again because of it.

"You don't like it," she murmured, sounding dismayed, and he couldn't let her think that even though he couldn't quite remember how to talk. Instead he pulled her into his lap, burying his face against her throat as he fought back tears. He didn't deserve any of this, had never done a single thing to make him worthy of his angel, and he murmured an inarticulate prayer of thanksgiving against her skin for the blessings that had been bestowed on him.

"I love it," he finally managed to choke out. "It's wonderful, angel. I don't... I don't deserve..."

"Yes, you do," she whispered into his hair.

He held her for long minutes until he felt like he'd managed to regain some control of himself, and she kissed him tenderly, her eyes shining. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," he echoed, remembering the last present. The tea set and the book no longer seemed like nearly enough, and he hoped she wouldn't be too disappointed. Later he'd be giving her the ring, so maybe that would make up for it.

He handed the other package to her, watching as she felt along the edges, her eyes lighting up as she recognized the shape. "It's... actually, it's kind of for the baby."

Her face softened, and she unwrapped this present more carefully, staring at the cover for a long moment, her face curiously blank. "I thought... maybe... you'd want to read to the baby."

When she finally looked up at him, her eyes were too bright, but she was smiling. "I love it. Thank you."

He helped her onto the couch so she could rest, kneeling on the floor beside her and leaning down for a kiss. Her lips were soft and warm as they clung to his, soothing his fear that he'd somehow gotten something wrong with the present. Unable to resist, he pushed up her pajama top to kiss her stomach. "Merry Christmas, little one."

Belle smiled down at him, her eyes tender. "Do you want to read to it?" she offered, holding out the book.

Pleased with the idea, he took it from her, leafing through the table of contents. "Do you have a favorite story?" he asked, wondering where to begin. The first tale in the book was 'Little Red Riding Hood,' and wolves seemed too violent for Christmas.

Her lips parted like she was going to say something, then she sighed and shook her head. "You pick one."

After some consideration, he hit on a tale that he remembered as being more funny than frightening and began reading 'The Princess and the Pea'. "Once upon a time..."

Joseph would happily have spent the entire day snuggling with Belle and reading to their child, but eventually they had to ready themselves for midday Mass. Christmas morning rarely got much of a turnout, so he'd opted to push the service back to noon this year to see if that helped. If it did, he'd have to make sure the new priest was aware of it.

More people came than usual, which pleased him, and afterward he and Belle had to fend off half a dozen invitations to Christmas dinner. "I'm roasting a duck," she explained, making their excuses to the Duncan family as he shook hands with the patriarch, Charles. As the man allowed himself to be escorted away by his daughters, Joseph was willing to swear the septuagenarian winked at him, but it had to have been a trick of the light.

He and Belle spent the afternoon in the kitchen while she worked on their meal, and he helped as much as he was able. Despite her best efforts at teaching him, his cooking skills were still all but nonexistent, but he was capable of doing the heavy lifting with the duck and peeling potatoes at least.

A duck wasn't entirely traditional, but if she'd gotten them a turkey, they'd be eating leftovers until Easter. With candles lit and carols playing and Belle smiling at him, no meal could have been better.

They retired to the living room afterward, and Belle propped her feet in his lap as she stretched out on the sofa. "Was that the kind of Christmas you wanted?" she asked idly as he pressed his thumbs against her instep, and she sighed in pleasure.

"It was _perfect_, angel," he assured her. The entire day had been a dream come true as he and Belle created their own traditions. Next year would be different because they'd have their baby, and he had years of playing Father Christmas ahead of him, but this warmth and togetherness would always be at the heart of the day.

He kept rubbing her feet, his mind straying to the velvet box in his jacket pocket. He'd kept the ring with him today, feeling its promise as he spoke the words of the Christmas service. Now the jacket hung on the back of one of the kitchen chairs, and his moment was almost upon him.

Nerves tightened his stomach, and Joseph tried to breathe evenly. He could do this. Everything he'd ever wanted was within his grasp; all he had to do was ask. He just needed an excuse to be in the kitchen long enough to get the ring. "Eggnog?" he offered, remembering the bottle she'd bought earlier in the week after triple-checking that it was nonalcoholic.

"Sure." Belle withdrew her feet from his lap, sitting up as he went to fetch their drinks. Once out of her sight he leaned against the wall for a moment and crossed himself, "Father, please give me courage. Please give me the words to do this _right_. Give us Your blessing. Amen."

Feeling slightly calmer, he slipped the ring box into his pocket and filled two glasses with eggnog and a slight dusting of nutmeg. They could toast to their engagement.

He carried the glasses into the living room, placing both on the coffee table as he crouched at Belle's feet. She smiled at him, brushing his hair back as he settled himself on his knees. Getting down on one knee was more traditional, but considering how shaky he was feeling, if he tried that he'd probably fall over.

Instead, he took her hands in his, lifting them to his mouth to kiss her palms. "I love you so much, my angel," he murmured against her skin, holding onto her hands as he placed them back in her lap and held her gaze. "I wish I knew how to tell you how much. You're my life. You and our baby. You saved me, Belle, and all I want is to be with you. Will you marry me?"

Instead of looking happy, Belle looked like he'd struck her, and Joseph's stomach twisted in fear. "Baby..." she murmured, her eyes distraught, "You're a priest. We can't."

Relief coursed through him at her objection. For a moment he'd been afraid something was seriously wrong. Clinging to her hands, he hastened to explain, "I can resign; it's called laicization. I mailed the letter almost a week ago. I won't be a priest anymore. We can be married."

Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew the velvet box and opened it, presenting the ring to her. "Please say you'll be my wife."

If anything, Belle only looked more upset. Reaching out she touched the box, but instead of taking the ring, she pushed it closed. "Baby, this is your calling. You can't give that up because of me."

"Yes, I can. I _want_ to," he argued, "Belle, I love you. I love our baby. I want us to be a family."

"You'll regret it," she insisted, and he shook his head, but she kept talking, "You look so happy when you're preaching. You were born to do this. You were _called_ for this. I won't take that away from you."

Joseph dropped the ring box and grabbed her hands again, feeling like he was fighting for his life. Never in all his dreams of this moment had it ever occurred to him that Belle would say no. "I was called for _you_. I was called so I would meet you and fall in love with you. This is God's plan. He wants us to be together."

"If this is because of the baby-" she started, and he refused to let her finish that thought.

"I've wanted to marry you for _months_. Angel, I _love_ our baby. You know I do. But even if there wasn't a baby-" It hurt even to think those words. "-I would still be asking you to be my wife. Belle, _please_."

"Joseph, I can't!" she exclaimed, yanking out of his grasp to curl herself into a ball in the corner of the sofa, and it was the night of the terrorist attacks all over again, the night she tried to leave him. "You don't know what you're asking. I _can't_ marry you."

Belle hid behind her hair, and he pushed it behind her ear, horrified to see that she was crying. This wasn't right. This wasn't what was supposed to happen. She was supposed to say yes and kiss him, and he'd slide the ring onto her finger, and they'd be happy forever. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

Something was obviously hideously wrong, and pushing her wasn't going to do anything but upset her more. Feeling like he'd been shot, Joseph pulled himself off the floor to sit down beside her on the couch and hesitantly tried to pull her into his arms. Whatever what going on, Belle was crying, and he couldn't let that continue.

For a moment she fought his hold, then she slumped against him, burying her face against his chest as she sobbed like her heart was breaking. It was a feeling he was now intimately familiar with. Tears stinging his own eyes, he pulled her closer, rocking her as he whispered words of love and comfort. Somehow they'd gone from the height of joy to the depths of hell, but she still turned to him for comfort. That was important. That meant they still had a chance.

He held her until she cried herself out, and he nudged her temple with his nose. "Come on. Let's go to bed."

The scene was a near copy of the previous night as he led her upstairs, hands entwined, but where last night had been all laughter, tonight he felt like he was walking towards his own execution.

At the door of his bedroom, he half-expected her to break away and insist on sleeping alone, but she entered without a word, her hands fumbling with the zipper at the back of her dress. "Could you-?"

"Of course." Careful not to accidentally touch her, Joseph unzipped her dress, and Belle suddenly turned in his arms, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down into a fierce kiss as her dress puddled at her feet. Automatically, he yanked her closer, desperate to hold onto her any way that he could. "Belle?"

"Shhh," she hushed him, her hands tearing at the front of his shirt, and he thought he heard something rip. Then her lips were on his again, and it was suddenly a race to strip each other bare, his hands fumbling with her bra as she went to work on his belt, and in a matter of moments, they were sprawled on the bed.

To his shame, one of the first things he'd researched when Belle found out she was pregnant was whether it would be safe for them to make love while she was expecting. Although everything had assured him that lovemaking would do no harm to the baby, Joseph had still promised himself to be gentle and careful, to treat her like she was made of porcelain. There was nothing gentle about this.

Belle's teeth cut into his shoulder, claiming him, and he grunted in ecstasy at the possessive touch, grabbing her and forcibly rolling her off of him to pin her wrists by her head as he returned the favor, sucking at her throat. He was going to leave a mark; he _wanted_ to leave a mark, wanted to brand her his. She wasn't wearing his ring- not yet- but everyone who saw her was going to fucking _know_ who she belonged to.

He seized her mouth as he cupped her breasts, kneading roughly, and Belle arched into him with a muffled cry of pleasure, her legs wrapping around his hips. They needed to slow down. He needed to please her, use his mouth, remind her how good they were together. Beneath him, Belle shifted impatiently, using her legs to try to pull him down, and he growled as he shoved himself deep.

Any technique he'd ever had was gone. This wasn't lovemaking; this was the pure, animal drive to claim his mate. Belle was his mate. Belle was _his_, and he'd never let her go. Snarling against her lips, he pounded into her as her nails clawed at his shoulders, her heels digging into his lower back, urging him on. She clung to him like she loved him, and it was only her arms that were keeping him from falling apart as he thrust hard, her little body quivering from the force he was using.

Belle wrenched her mouth away from his as she shrieked, her body rippling around him, pulling him deeper. His blood was boiling in his veins, his heart ready to burst, but somehow he found the strength to keep going, to keep slamming himself into her until she climaxed around him again, and this time dragged him over the edge with her in an orgasm so intense that it brought as much pain as pleasure.

When he could think again, he was sprawled next to her, his arm slung heavily around her, and terror coursed through him. "Belle? Are you- did I- Tell me the baby's okay."

His mind babbled a frantic prayer for the safety of their child as she took his hand, pressing it to her stomach. "He's fine. You didn't hurt him. You didn't hurt me. It's fine."

Rolling onto his side, he pulled her into his arms, spooning up protectively behind her although the danger was past now. "I'm sorry, angel," he breathed into her hair, not even sure what he was apologizing for.

"I am too, baby," she whispered into the dark room, "I'm so sorry."

It seemed impossible that sleep would ever come, but finally it overtook him in the midst of a prayer that everything would seem better the following day. Something was wrong, but they'd fix it. As long as they were together, they could do anything.

When he awoke the next morning, his arms were empty, and he was alone in the bed. Joseph snapped awake instantly, looking around the room for any trace of Belle. The clothes they'd torn off had been folded neatly, so clearly she'd been awake longer than he had, but the house felt silent and empty.

He yanked on a pair of pajama pants, not bothering with his tee shirt as he stepped into the hall, listening for any sign of Belle. The bathroom door was open, but the guest room door was closed, and he knocked on it a little too loudly. "Belle?"

No sweet voice answered him, and he stumbled downstairs, going immediately for the front door. Her car was gone. Rubbing his hands over his face, he staggered over to the couch and sat down hard. He was not going to panic. The same thing happened their very first day together, and she'd come home within the hour. She was running an errand, that was all.

He looked around the living room, seeing their Christmas presents- his watch and scarf and her tea set- neatly displayed under the tree. The glasses of eggnog they hadn't managed to drink last night had been washing and put in the dish drainer. The ring box sat on the coffee table, and although he flipped it open hopefully, the ring was still inside, dashing his hope that she'd decided to put it on.

Of the book of fairy tales there was no sign, but knowing Belle she'd started reading it already. She'd made a pot of coffee for him, and there were muffins left from yesterday, so he helped himself to breakfast while he waited.

An hour later he was still waiting, and it was nearing time for Mass, so he gave up on his vigil. He had responsibilities, and he couldn't fall apart just because Belle had decided to run an errand.

It wasn't his best service, but it was far from his worst, and Joseph comforted himself with the knowledge that she would surely be home when he finished. Since it was Boxing Day, many of the parishioners had brought canned goods for the poor, and directing them on where to put things gave him something to focus on.

"Father, where's Belle?" Mrs. Kelsey asked him as she neatened the pile of tinned soups.

"She had to run an errand," he told her, proud that his voice sounded almost normal.

"Give her my best," the elderly woman directed, and he agreed at once.

"She told me you taught her to knit. Thank you for that. The scarf she made was beautiful." He'd forgotten to wear it, had forgotten to wear a coat at all, but he wouldn't be caught without it again.

She brushed off his thanks, but her pleased smile told him the words had been appreciated, and he felt almost steady as he finished his task. It took until mid-afternoon to get everything sorted out, and once everyone had left, he nearly sprinted home, his heart sinking when he didn't see her car parked outside.

"Belle?" he called as he stepped into the house. Perhaps she'd had car trouble and needed to take a taxi home. There was no answer.

He wandered in a circle around the first floor, unable to concentrate on anything but memories of her. That was the doorway where she'd splashed water on herself when he startled her. That was the couch where they'd made love. That was the tree they'd decorated together. That was her Christmas present, and she wouldn't leave her Christmas present behind. She wouldn't leave without taking her present.

Joseph fell to his knees, crossing himself with a shaking hand. "Father, please. Let her come back to me. Keep her safe and bring her home. Please bring her home to me." For hours he continued in the same vein, pleading with the Lord to return his angel to him. At the slightest sound, he jumped, every fiber of his being willing it to be Belle coming home, and every time he was disappointed.

The light outside was growing dim, and this was a very long errand she was running. Trembling, he picked up the phone in his office and dialed her cell phone, needing to hear her voice. All he got was her voicemail, and just the recording of her asking him to leave a message nearly brought him to his knees. "Angel, it's me. Um... you've been gone a really long time, and I'm starting to worry. Just... call me back, okay? Or come home. I lo- I'll talk to you soon."

He hung up and resumed pacing, but the phone didn't ring. He hadn't eaten since that morning, and he was starting to feel light-headed, but the mere thought of food made bile rise in his throat. Besides, Belle would probably have something with her when she came home. He didn't want to spoil his dinner.

Another hour of pacing yielded nothing, and he lunged for the phone again. "Angel, _please_ come home. I'm sorry about last night. I'm so sorry. We'll talk about it, yeah? I mean, you can talk and I'll listen. I swear I'll listen, just_ come home_."

It was nearly nine o'clock, and he couldn't imagine what would be open this late. Joseph plugged the tree in, its light cheering up the room. Belle was so proud of their tree; she'd be pleased to see it lit and waiting for her.

The phone still didn't ring, and the front door still didn't open, and Joseph felt like he was about to lose his mind. It wasn't like Belle to be gone so long. Something could have happened to her. She could be hurt, could need him, and he didn't know where she was.

Feeling like a man walking to the scaffold, he ascended the stairs, bypassing his own bedroom in favor of the guest room. His fingers clenched on the doorknob, every instinct he had telling him to let it go, to go back downstairs and keep waiting, but he _had_ to know. Squeezing his eyes shut, he swung the door open and fumbled for the light switch.

Belle was gone.

Her clothes no longer hung in the closet, and her bag was missing from the top shelf. Most damning was the missing picture frame on the dresser: the one that held her pictures of her husband and Nick. Not quite everything was missing. The wings she'd worn as part of her Halloween costume were still tucked under the bed, and the sight of them there made him want to vomit. Had she forgotten them or left them deliberately? He wasn't sure which would be worse.

He lunged for the stairs and grabbed the phone, trying not to sob as he left his third message, "_Call me back._ I went in your room. Belle, this isn't fair. Call me back. I don't care how late it is. Just call me."

He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but stare at the phone and pray incoherently for it to ring. Finally, he deposited himself in his desk chair and buried his face in his hands, afraid to leave the room in case she called back and he didn't hear it. He _had_ to talk to Belle.

He woke up with a stiff neck and a mouth that tasted like something had died in it. For a moment he expected to find himself at a bar and blinked in surprise when he found himself in his office before everything came rushing back. She hadn't called.

Fumbling he dialed again. "I understand that you don't want to talk to me. I get it. Belle, I have to know that you're all right. I swear I won't pick up the phone. Just call and leave a message and tell me that you're safe. Mass starts in half an hour; I won't even be home if you call then. Angel, I'm scared to death. Just let me know that you and the baby are safe. I love you."

He'd promised not to answer, but it was still nearly impossible to drag himself away from the phone to ready himself for church. After his shower, he sprinted still dripping back downstairs in hopes of seeing the blinking light telling him that he had a message. He didn't.

With a leaden heart, he managed to get himself dressed and stumble through the service. He'd forgotten just how miserable he'd been before he met Belle, but it was quickly coming back. His beautiful dreams of happiness and family had shattered, and she was _gone_, and she was not coming back.

After the service, his feet led him away from the rectory, and he followed them to the liquor store, the bottle of whiskey fitting into his jacket pocket as neatly as it ever had. He'd forgotten to wear a coat again, and Belle's scarf was still under the tree. It didn't matter.

Somehow he found his way back home, and the blinking light on his answering machine mocked him as he collapsed into his chair, placing the bottle of whiskey beside it. The only question was whether he wanted to get blind drunk before or after Belle told him that she never wanted to see him again. The decision wasn't easy to make, and for a long time he sat, his eyes flickering back and forth between the taunting light and the comforting bottle.


	16. Chapter 15

Belle lay awake, trying to keep her breathing slow and even, and she eventually felt Joseph slip into sleep behind her. Closing her eyes, she tried to memorize the way his arms felt wrapped around her, the way his breath stirred her hair, the pure warmth and safety of being with him. Then she took a deep breath and eased herself out of his embrace and their bed, her eyes stinging.

Moving soundlessly through the room, she picked up his clothes and hers, draping his neatly over the one chair in the room and bringing hers with her to her bedroom. With her heart in her throat, she lifted her bag down from the top shelf of the closet and began filling it, trying not to make any noise as she gathered her things. It didn't take long to fill the bag, and the last thing she put inside was the frame containing Nick and Rumpelstiltskin's pictures. That, more than anything, made the room look painfully empty, and she stifled a sob as she looked around, trying to verify she hadn't left anything behind.

She slipped back into Joseph's room and leaned against the door, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness so she could see him sleeping. Even in sleep, his brow was furrowed, and guilt tore at her heart. 'This is your fault,' she reminded herself, 'You did this to him.'

What she was about to do was a thousand times worse, but she couldn't stay. Telling him that she couldn't marry him had taken all the strength she had. Every part of her so desperately wanted to say yes, to ignore her curse and just stay with him forever, but she couldn't risk it. Joseph deserved so much better than the fate that awaited him if she did that. Only the knowledge that she'd be endangering him by staying gave her the strength to refuse, even though she knew she was hurting him. A broken heart now was far better than the alternative if she stayed.

Moving quietly through the room, she leaned over him to press a kiss to his forehead. "I love you," she breathed, the first time she'd said the words aloud, "I'm so sorry, baby."

Part of her longed for him to wake up. If he woke, he'd stop her from leaving, and that was what she wanted more than anything. Any excuse to stay, however flimsy, she'd cling to just to have another day, another few hours with Joseph. She'd be selfish and keep making excuses until she ruined him, and once she'd taken his calling away, she'd be the death of him.

It was better this way. He'd be hurt and feel betrayed, but he would _live_ and that was what was most important. With her gone, he'd change his mind about leaving the priesthood, and he'd be able to live a good life without her curse hanging over his head.

Giving into temptation, she picked up one of his tee shirts and slipped it into her bag, wanting something that carried his scent. She left the room without letting herself look back and made her way downstairs. Taking the tea set felt like theft, but she couldn't bring herself to leave the book behind. He'd bought it so she could read to the baby, and she'd honor his wish. She organized the presents under the tree, straightened up the mess they'd made last night, and started a pot of coffee for him for when he woke up, and then there was nothing else for her to do with her hands.

The house was in perfect order, and she closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of pine and home for the last time. "Goodbye, baby," she whispered, and her heart ached as she stepped out of the house and locked the door behind her.

She sat in the car for a long, long time, leaning her head against the steering wheel as she sobbed, hoping every moment for the front door to open and bring Joseph to her, to take the choice out of her hands and force her to stay. When she'd cried herself out, she dried her eyes and started the car, whispering a prayer to his god to watch over him.

With no real direction in mind, Belle drove, her goal only to leave Middlesbrough behind. Choosing a road at random, she put as much distance between herself and Joseph as she could even as her heart screamed at her to turn around and go back. She loved him. She _belonged_ with him.

If she went back, she'd kill him, so she drove until she was all but out of petrol and stopped at the first hotel she saw just as the sun started to rise on the day. In another hour or so Joseph would wake to find her gone, and she fumbled in her purse as she let herself into her room, turning off her cell phone. She didn't trust herself. If she heard his voice, she wouldn't be able to stay away.

Not even bothering to undress, Belle crawled into the bed, her eyes feeling gritty. She'd been up for almost twenty-four hours straight, and this couldn't be good for the baby. Closing her eyes, she counted backwards from one hundred, forcing herself to think of nothing but the numbers, a trick she'd learned in Regina's dungeon. She was asleep before she got to fifty.

For most of the day she slept, waking up long enough to get out of her clothes and pull on Joseph's shirt, surrounding herself with his scent. Silent tears trickled down her face as she tried to imagine herself home in their bed. He'd join her soon and put his arms around her, and she'd be warm and safe and loved. She wanted to go home.

The second time she woke, she forced herself to call room service. An omelette was all she could manage, but she had to eat. It wasn't just her anymore; she had to be strong and do the right thing for their baby. They'd agreed that he'd be part of their child's life, and the thought turned the food into ash in her mouth. She couldn't take the baby away from Joseph, but she couldn't imagine how she'd ever have the strength to be near him without simply throwing herself into his arms and never letting go.

Belle reflected bitterly that Regina had been quite right to lock her away in the asylum. She'd been mad to think that this was a good plan, that she could go from being Joseph's lover to being just his friend with no repercussions. Now she was paying the price for her selfishness and greed. Worse, Joseph was paying it too. She choked down the rest of the omelette and went back to bed.

Today was the food drive, she remembered as she stared blankly at the ceiling. She'd prepared boxes for the different donations and stashed them in the storage room at the church. Hopefully someone would find them. Mrs. Kelsey was certain to organize things in her absence. She'd have to call the older woman at some point, give some excuse for her sudden disappearance. Her sob sounded loud in the silent room, and she rolled over, burying her face in her pillow as she started to count again.

The day passed in a haze of misery and exhaustion. Belle slept as much as she could, trying to pretend the outside world didn't exist, and ate when she could force herself to do so. No matter how long she slept, she woke up feeling like she'd been run over by a truck, and just going to the bathroom took all of her energy.

At some point she managed to sink into a deeper, restful sleep, and when she woke she didn't have the slightest idea where she was. She blinked into the darkness, her mind racing through the possibilities- dungeon, hospital, pink house, library flat, Destiny, rectory, _hospital-_and with a muffled cry she flailed for the light, illuminating the hotel room. Chest heaving, she leaned back against the headboard, trying to calm her racing heart. She wasn't locked up. She hadn't been locked up for twelve years, and no one was _ever_ going to lock her up again.

Climbing out of bed, she opened the blackout curtains, blinking in surprise as weak sunlight filtered into the room. A glance at the clock told her that it was nine in the morning, and she'd basically slept for twenty-six straight hours. No wonder she felt so strange.

A hot shower and clean clothes made her feel slightly better, and breakfast helped even more, even though she kept Joseph's shirt close at hand, clinging to it like a child with a favorite stuffed toy. When she was a little girl, she'd had a stuffed unicorn that went everywhere with her, and she wondered what the baby's favorite toy would be.

"Pull yourself together, Belle," she chided herself. This wasn't like leaving Storybrooke or leaving Destiny. She was a mother now. She had responsibilities. She couldn't just run. She couldn't hide.

Steeling herself, she fished her cell phone out of her purse and turned it on to discover she had four messages, all from Joseph. He hadn't called until late yesterday afternoon which surprised her but not as much as the content of the first message, _"Angel, it's me. Um... you've been gone a really long time, and I'm starting to worry. Just... call me back, okay? Or come home. I lo- I'll talk to you soon."_

Her heart ached at the sound of his voice. He was doing his best to sound steady, but the note of worry came through clearly. It had never occurred to her to leave him a note, and she cursed herself for her thoughtlessness. How long had he waited until he realized she wasn't coming back?

According to the next message, he'd apparently waited at least another hour, _"Angel, _please_ come home. I'm sorry about last night. I'm so sorry. We'll talk about it, yeah? I mean, you can talk and I'll listen. I swear I'll listen, just_ come home_." _Belle closed her eyes against his plea. She'd been right to turn the phone off. If she'd heard this message yesterday, nothing would have stopped her from doing just as he asked and going home.

The third message had been left only twenty minutes later, and the sheer agony in his voice reduced her to tears in a matter of seconds, _"Call me back. _ _I went in your room. Belle, this isn't fair. Call me back. I don't care how late it is. Just call me." _

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she gasped into the phone, even though there was no way he could hear her. Intellectually, she'd known that her leaving would hurt him, but _hearing_ what she'd done to him made it a thousand times worse. She should have left Middlesbrough the night of the terrorist attacks. Better still, she should have turned around and walked out of that pub the second she saw him. Joseph was such a _good_ soul; he deserved nothing but happiness, and she'd broken his heart. He would have been far better off if he'd never met her at all.

The final message had been left less than an hour ago, and she wiped her eyes, seeking to center herself before she listened to it. _ "I understand that you don't want to talk to me. I get it. Belle, I have to know that you're all right. I swear I won't pick up the phone. Just call and leave a message and tell me that you're safe. Mass starts in half an hour; I won't even be home if you call then. Angel, I'm scared to death. Just let me know that you and the baby are safe. I love you." _

Joseph sounded completely desperate, his accent thick as he pleaded with her, and Belle could have throttled herself for her callousness. Of course he was worried about her. She'd disappeared without a word, how had she ever expected him _not_ to worry? She dialed the rectory and hung up before it even had a chance to ring, as she realized she had no idea what to say. What excuse could she possibly give? She'd tried telling him about her curse once before, and he hadn't believed her. Somehow she had to end their relationship without invoking magic.

A horrific possibility crossed her mind, and the mere thought of saying it made her want to be sick, but try as she might, Belle couldn't think of any other options. She swallowed hard as she dialed. "Joseph, it's me. I want you to know that I'm safe. The baby and I are fine. I'm sorry I left so suddenly, but I needed some space. I... I don't love you the way you love me. I'm sorry, but I don't. I won't keep you away from the baby, and I hope we can still be friends, but we'll only ever be friends. I'm sorry."

She sat numbly for long minutes after she hung up before rushing to the bathroom to violently lose the contents of her stomach, and Belle wasn't sure if it was morning sickness or the sheer cruelty of the lie she'd just told that was making her nauseous. _'I don't want you anymore. My power means more to me than you.' _ She wondered if this was how Rumpelstiltskin had felt when he cast her out. Hopefully, she was a better liar than he had been. For his own safety, Joseph _had_ to believe her.

She listened to his messages twice more before forcing herself to put the phone back in her purse, the guilt trying to swallow her whole. Covering her face with her hands, Belle reminded herself that it was better this way. Loving Joseph meant doing what was best for him, even if it hurt both of them. She would _not_ let him die if it was in her power to save him. She would protect him, even from herself.

When she'd started her travels, her plan had been to find somewhere safe where she could hunker down and live out the rest of her life undisturbed. This town, whatever it was called, was as good as any other. She was about five hours from Middlesbrough which put her close enough for Joseph to see the baby occasionally, but far enough away that he wouldn't be able to come often or come unannounced. It would do.

A hotel was no place to raise a baby, and she picked up her purse, determined to see what she could see. There had to be a cottage or little house somewhere in this town that she could turn into a home, and the sooner she started the better.

A day's exploration unearthed a few possibilities, and Belle concentrated on her search, trying not to think about anything else until she returned to the hotel that night and checked her phone again. There was only one message this time. _"Please talk to me, angel. I don't understand what changed. We... we can just be friends if you want. We can do that. Just come home. We can make it just like it was. I won't touch you, I swear. Please come home."_

It didn't seem possible that she could have any tears left, but somehow Belle found some. She turned the phone back off, her heart aching. A clean break was best; she wouldn't call him again. She'd let her silence speak for her, saying all the things she couldn't bring herself to say again. Telling him that she didn't love him had nearly destroyed her; she couldn't do it again. Perhaps in time what was between them would feel less raw, the wounds scabbing over and leaving only scars behind. Belle knew about scars. She carried so many on her heart and on her body that a few more should make no difference. If only she hadn't inflicted them on him as well.

Searching for a distraction, she picked up the book of fairy tales and curled up at the head of the bed, one hand on her stomach. "Daddy bought this for you, sweetheart," she told the baby. "He loves you so much." Flipping through the book, she chose the tale of Sleeping Beauty to read. She'd never known Aurora well, and that made it easier to concentrate on the story as fiction. There were certain stories in here she knew she'd never have the strength to read, but hopefully she had years before the baby was old enough to ask why she never told the story of Beauty and the Beast or Rumpelstiltskin.

Thinking of Rumpelstiltskin made her think of names, and she found a smile as she wondered what the baby's name would be. Some instinct whispered that it would be a boy, and she tried to picture him- a toddler with Joseph's dark hair and gentle eyes. "What do you think, Nick?" she murmured, wondering if Nick was aware of everything that had happened since his Ascension. In recent months, she'd thought about him less, talked to him less, and the realization made her feel guilty.

"I didn't forget about you," she promised the air. "I'll never stop loving you. It's just been... different." Falling love with Joseph hadn't made her love Nick any less, no more than falling in love with Nick had diminished her love for Rumpelstiltskin. Her love for him was less immediate, but it was no less real. The sharp pain of his loss had faded into an ache, and in time she hoped the agony she felt at being separated from Joseph would do the same.

Talking to Nick didn't bring the same comfort it once had. Belle still felt warmth, but it was mingled with a faint sense of disapproval that left her feeling disquieted as she tucked herself into bed for the night. It was her own guilty conscience affecting her, she was certain of it, but it still bothered her.

The cottage she found was on the outskirts of town and came furnished. With a sizable deposit she was able to take possession immediately, and by the third day of the new year she had a home of her own.

No, not a home. Home was a battered sofa and a kitchen just barely big enough to use comfortably. Home was a church that always seemed dark no matter how bright the day. Home was Joseph's arms around her. She had a house.

He'd left a message every day she'd been gone, and Belle hadn't listened to any of them since the second day. She couldn't. Instead, she asked his god to protect him and give him strength and keep him away from the bottle. Eventually she would listen to the messages. Someday she'd find the strength to hear his voice without wanting to run home, but someday was not today.

Her cottage was small- two bedrooms, a living room, and a lovely kitchen- but it had a large backyard, and she leaned in the doorway, trying to envision her child playing there. Her imagination was quick to supply the image of a dark-haired toddler galloping around, shrieking with laughter as she chased him around the yard, only to be caught up in his beaming father's arms, Joseph sweeping the little boy off his feet for a cuddle before tickling and releasing him, the three of them playing together, the most perfect little family the world had ever known.

Longing knocked the breath out of her chest. No matter where she went in the house, she could see them. In the living room, Joseph would sprawl on the floor with their son, helping him construct a castle out of blocks. In the kitchen, he'd hold the boy while they watched her cook, and she'd take him from his hands, balancing him on her hip as he helped her stir, and Joseph would wrap his arms around her from behind, holding both of them. They'd read to the little boy every night and tuck him into bed with dozens of kisses, when he escaped his crib and crawled into bed with them, neither of them would have the heart to take him back to his own room.

Belle wished she could blame pregnancy hormones for the tears she couldn't seem to stop shedding. That should be her life. That was what she wanted, and the yearning threatened to break her heart. Joseph would be such a wonderful father, so gentle and loving, and they'd be so very happy together. If only she wasn't cursed. If only she'd let Rumpelstiltskin kill Regina when he wanted to. If only...

There was no fairy here to grant her wish, not that she'd trust one to do so, and she'd have to learn to live without what she wanted. Joseph's well-being was the most important thing; she had to learn to concentrate on that. She couldn't have him, but at least he'd be safe. Joseph needed to be safe.

That was what she told herself every time she ignored one of his calls. She reminded herself of the danger she presented to him every time she woke up reaching for him. It was better this way.

When her phone rang several weeks after she left Middlesbrough, she checked the caller by habit and nearly dropped the phone when she saw it was Anne Kelsey on the other end and not Joseph. "Hello?" she gasped, her heart in her throat, the fear that something had happened to Joseph stealing her strength as she sat down hard on the sofa.

"Belle?" the older woman's voice greeted her. "Are you all right?"

"Fine!" she blurted, her voice breathless and too high-pitched to be believed. "And you? How's... everything?"

She didn't dare ask after Joseph, but she hoped the woman would tell her if something was amiss. He'd left her a message that morning; he _had_ to be all right. Her curse shouldn't be able to touch him from here. "Everything is fine here," the woman assured her briskly, "It's not the same without you of course."

There was no accusation in her voice, but Belle still felt ashamed. These people were her friends, and she'd left without so much as a goodbye. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to leave so quickly."

"Belle..." Mrs. Kelsey's voice dropped, "Did something happen? Did Father Joseph... Did he hurt you?"

"No!" she almost shouted into the phone, horrified by the question. "Joseph would never... He'd _never_."

"All right, all right," the other woman hushed her, "I didn't think so, but I had to ask. You hear things about priests, and when you left... Well, that's your business. Do you need anything?"

"No. Thank you." Belle slumped back against the couch, feeling suddenly exhausted. "I'm all right."

Mrs. Kelsey hummed a little into the phone, a sound that said she didn't believe her, but she wouldn't argue. "You left your knitting at my house. Do you want me to send it to you?"

The idea brightened her mood a bit. Knitting would give her something to do with her hands, and she needed all the distractions she could get. Perhaps she could knit a blanket for the baby. "Yes, please," she agreed, giving the other woman her address when asked. They chatted for a few more minutes, Mrs. Kelsey filling her in on what had been happening with some of the other parishioners in her absence. Of Joseph she made no mention, but Belle considered that a good sign. If anything had happened to him, surely she would have said something. He had to be all right; Belle couldn't let herself believe anything else.

Her first doctor's appointment was the next day, and it took her several minutes before she could convince herself to step out of the car and into the clinic. For all that her imprisonment had been long ago, the memories still reared their heads at the most inconvenient times, and she wished she had Joseph next to her. He wouldn't let them lock her up.

'No one is going to lock you up,' Belle told herself firmly as she walked through the door into the brightly lit space. The clinic couldn't have been more different from her basement, and that helped considerably. She played fast and loose with the truth on the paperwork, trusting that no one would go to the trouble of sending to Maine for her full medical records. She gave the birthday that was on her driver's license and firmly checked 'No' when the paper asked her if she'd ever been hospitalized.

She was weighed and measured and poked and prodded, but it was all done with friendly smiles, and by the end of the appointment, she felt almost sanguine about the whole thing. They wanted to keep an eye on her due to her age, but overall she was the picture of health and due on August sixteenth, less than seven months away. It didn't seem possible.

Once she got home, she picked up her phone and steeled herself. She had thirty-two messages from Joseph that she hadn't listened to, and she couldn't put it off any longer.

_"Angel, have you thought any more about what I said? Your room is just as you left it. Just come home. I won't push for more."_

_"How are you feeling, angel? Are you feeling sick at all? The computer said you might feel sick. If you need me, you know where to find me. I'll walk to you if I have to."_

_"Is there anything I can do for you, angel? Anything that you need? I miss hearing your voice."_

_"Angel, have you thought about names at all? I miss you."_

_"I'm thinking about you. I love you."_

Somehow, she managed not to cry as she listened to the messages. Joseph sounded all right. His voice wasn't slurred like it would be if he'd been drinking, and although he sounded sad, she didn't hear the hopeless note that she remembered from their first week together. He was managing without her, and the relief left her dizzy.

Not giving herself a chance to think about it, she dialed the rectory, and she closed her eyes when he picked up. "Hello?"

For a moment she couldn't speak, and she pressed her hand to her throat, the sound of his voice in her ear- real and immediate- washing over her. "Hello? Is someone there?"

"Hi," she managed to get out, barely audible.

There was a pause, then his strangled voice said, "_Belle_? Belle, is that you?"

She nodded, then realized he couldn't see her, "Yeah. It's me."

There was an odd noise on the other end of the phone like he'd knocked something over or perhaps fallen himself, but when he spoke she heard nothing but shock and happiness, "Oh my God... Angel... It's _so_ good to hear your voice. Are... are you all right? Is the baby all right? How are you? _Where_ are you?"

The questions came fast and furious, and she managed to laugh a little. "I'm okay. I had my first doctor's appointment today."

He made a soft noise and she couldn't tell if it was of distress or interest. "How did it go?"

"Everything looks great." Belle didn't miss his sigh of relief. "I'm due on August sixteenth."

"That's... that's amazing, angel." His voice was ragged, like he was either crying or trying not to. "Have you thought any more about... Will you please come home?"

The naked hope in his voice brought tears to her eyes. "I can't," she breathed. "You know I can't."

"Angel-"

She cut him off before he could say anything more, not trusting herself. "I'm _sorry_, Joseph. I'll call you again, okay? Bye." Without giving him a chance to reply, she broke the connection, her heart pounding in her chest as she turned the phone off for good measure.

Belle wasn't sure if talking to him had made her feel better or worse. It was heartening to know he hadn't fallen apart in her absence, but the sound of his voice wasn't enough for her. She wanted to burrow into his arms and let him make all the loneliness go away. She needed his faith and quiet strength to hold her together and convince her that everything would be fine, that they could be together forever, and live happily ever after.

Unfortunately, happily ever afters were in short supply, and a few months or a few years of happiness with Joseph wasn't worth his life. She couldn't let her curse kill him. She had to protect him even if he didn't understand that was what she was doing.

If she was smart, she wouldn't call again.


	17. Chapter 16

_Sorry about the long delay!_

* * *

Joseph sat for what could have been minutes or hours, staring at the blinking light on the answering machine as his thumb caressed the smooth, cool neck of the whiskey bottle. It was going to be bad; he _knew_ it was going to be bad, but his need to hear her voice couldn't be denied. With shaking fingers, he pushed the button and closed his eyes, his angel's voice filling his ears. "_ Joseph, it's me. I want you to know that I'm safe. The baby and I are fine. I'm sorry I left so suddenly, but I needed some space. I... I don't love you the way you love me. I'm sorry, but I don't. I won't keep you away from the baby, and I hope we can still be friends, but we'll only ever be friends. I'm sorry." _

It would have hurt less if she'd shot him. With a ragged cry, he hunched over, his head swimming dangerously as his eyes burned, her words echoing in his head. She didn't love him. Belle didn't love him. After everything they'd done together, everything they shared, she didn't love him. He'd tried so _hard_, and it hadn't been enough.

"Of course she doesn't," he hissed aloud, barely recognizing his own voice. Of course Belle didn't love him. How could she? She was an angel, and he was useless, worthless. Belle was _everything_, and he was nothing. Of course she didn't love him.

He hadn't felt like nothing when he was with her, and that was the cruelest cut of all. In her arms, Joseph felt like he was worth something, had value, but it was all an illusion, because his angel didn't love him.

_Friends_. She'd said they could be friends, and the thought made him want to vomit. To be near Belle but never able to touch her, to see her only on weekends or holidays, to miss the everyday miracles of their child's life would be torture. He'd be nothing but an observer in her life, forced to stand by as she moved on without him, created a life for herself, perhaps found love, and one day he'd have to watch his child call another man 'daddy.' He couldn't. He _couldn't_. He'd rather be dead.

His hands were shaking so badly that he could barely unscrew the cap from the whiskey bottle, but he managed the trick at last, taking a moment to relish the promise of blissful oblivion. His mind offered up a picture of Belle looking at him with contempt, her arms crossed over her chest to ward him off as she grudgingly supervised a visit between him and their child, and he whimpered, agony coursing through him, the heartbreak physically debilitating. He felt like he was hemorrhaging, and if he could, he'd rip his own heart out just to make the pain stop.

The whiskey would numb the agony at least temporarily, and if he'd been smart, he would have bought a case instead of just one bottle. One bottle wouldn't kill him.

"Here's to you, Belle," he whispered, barely aware of the tears running down his face. She'd be so angry if she knew he was doing this. She'd worked so hard to get him sober.

Joseph paused with the bottle halfway to his parted lips, a flood of beautiful memories washing over him. Belle had cared for him for weeks when they first met and hadn't flinched even when he was at his lowest. She'd petted him, soothed him, and encouraged him day after day, sharing her strength with him when he had none of his own. She'd given him her kindness, her friendship, and even her body. She'd allowed him to hold her and kiss her even before they decided to try for a baby, slept in his arms night after night and never indicated that she wanted to be somewhere else. She'd held him and listened to him and shared herself with him. She'd given him so much- far more than he'd ever dreamed possible. Why would she do that for a man she didn't love?

A flicker of hope sputtered to life, and he put the bottle down, reaching instead for the computer mouse as he opened up the folder that contained the pictures he'd taken of Belle. He'd bought the camera shortly after he bought her engagement ring, thinking it would be lovely to share pictures of this time with their child and future grandchildren.

He whimpered at the first shot, a picture of Belle leaning over a cookbook, her face intent with concentration. For a moment he just looked, drinking in the sight of her face like they'd been separated for years. In the next shot she was looking at him, and her eyes were so very warm. The flicker became a flame, gaining strength with every picture he looked at. Belle looked so happy, her smile open and affectionate, and the look in her eyes was so very familiar.

Joseph knew what love looked like; he saw it on his own face every time he thought about Belle. He knew love when he saw it. Slumping back in his chair, he exhaled shakily as the hope warmed him from the inside out, burning away the heartache and leaving only determination. He'd been tested and come through the fire stronger. Belle loved him. He had faith.

Opening his eyes, he looked at the open bottle of whiskey in surprise. The haze of the last thirty-six hours was lifting, leaving him clear-headed at last. Belle loved him, but she left him, and getting drunk wasn't going to tell him why or help him get her back. He stood up and grabbed the bottle, carrying it with him to the kitchen and upending it down the sink, wincing as the fumes from the cheap liquor hit his nostrils. He couldn't fathom how he'd spent decades drinking it.

Returning to his office, he picked up the phone and dialed Belle's number, disappointed but not surprised when he got her voicemail again. "Please talk to me, angel. I don't understand what changed. We... we can just be friends if you want. We can do that. Just come home. We can make it just like it was. I won't touch you, I swear. Please come home."

If Belle needed to take a step back, they'd do that. He'd do anything she liked as long as she came home. If she came home, they could talk and start to work this out. He'd find out what made her run and fix it, and they could have their happily ever after. The love and joy he'd imagined when he thought of his future with Belle was still within his grasp; he just had to work for it.

Work he would. A quick internet search provided him with a map of the area, and he printed it off and grabbed a pen. Belle would have left Middlesbrough, but she wouldn't have gone too far if she still intended him to be part of their baby's life. Still, if she was determined to get away from him, she probably wouldn't have settled in any of the nearest towns either. Joseph decisively crossed off Middlesbrough, Redcar, and Stockton-On-Tees. Next came Darlington, and another search yielded him a list of hotels. He picked up the phone and started to dial.

It took him just over an hour to go down the list of hotels and ascertain that Belle Gold hadn't stayed at any of them. He crossed off Darlington on the map and took a break, hoping she hadn't tried to call while the line was busy. His stomach was reminding him that he hadn't eaten since the previous morning; he needed a shower, and he didn't have time to lose hope. Joseph was a man with a quest. His angel needed him to find her.

When he came back downstairs after getting himself cleaned up, the answering machine was blinking again, and he lunged for it, but the female voice that greeted him wasn't the one he wanted to hear. Instead, he found himself being called in to meet with Bishop Drainey. Apparently his letter of resignation had finally been received and read.

The following day found him going from Mass straight to Saint Mary's Cathedral, Belle's watch a comforting weight in his pocket, her scarf around his neck. Joseph took strength from the gifts, a tangible reminder of why he was doing this. Although he knew the bishop in passing, he'd seen little of him since his appointment. Joseph vaguely remembered trying to make a good impression when he visited the church, but in the depths of his alcoholism, he doubted he'd succeeded.

Despite what he must be thinking, Bishop Terry, as he asked to be called, proved pleasant enough. "I have a whole list of questions I'm supposed to ask," he explained as he waved Joseph into a chair before sitting down himself and putting the list aside, "Why don't you just tell me what you're thinking?"

It took a full two hours to tell the story, his fingers delving into his pocket to caress the watch as he spoke, and Bishop Terry followed along like he was enraptured, occasionally asking a clarification question but on the whole simply listening. Joseph thought Belle would approve of him.

"This is God's will," he finished. "I've never been so sure of anything. This is what He wants me to do."

Bishop Terry nodded. "I understand, and I won't argue."

"It wouldn't do any good," he admitted. After months spent agonizing over this decision, there was nothing the bishop could say that Joseph hadn't already thought about. No argument mattered. He was doing the right thing.

"Officially, you're supposed to be relieved of your offices as of now. In reality, I'm not going to be able to send a new priest to your parish until after the new year, so let's keep this to ourselves for now. I'll forward your petition to Rome, but don't get your hopes up for a dispensation. They're few and far between." Bishop Terry started to type, reading out the letter petitioning for dismissal from the clerical state and dispensation from the obligation of celibacy as he wrote, streamlining Joseph's story.

Although he'd be dismissed from the priesthood in short order, denying the dispensation meant that his marriage to Belle wouldn't be recognized by the Church. Part of him wanted to laugh at the idea. God had given him Belle and blessed their union, yet the Church would see it as a scandal. It was insanity. Still, it would be legal, and he knew God understood. Joseph would take what he could get.

He felt oddly light-headed as he left Saint Mary's. He'd been a priest for the vast majority of his life, and in a very short period of time, he wouldn't be anymore. He'd jumped off the cliff, and there was no going back now. Somehow, Joseph thought he should be more frightened. The Church had sheltered him for decades, and he was willingly turning his back on it. Instead, he felt nothing but exhilaration. He was doing God's will and securing his future with Belle.

First he had to _find_ Belle, and he moved on to the next city on the map, trying not to let it hurt that she hadn't left him a message. She hadn't told him to stop calling her either, and he chose to take that as encouragement. He called her first, not willing to let her forget about him. _"_Angel, have you thought any more about what I said? Your room is just as you left it. Just come home. I won't push for more." His last statement wasn't a total lie. He _wouldn't_ push her, just attempt to persuade her.

The next list of hotels yielded him no clues as to Belle's whereabouts, nor did the next or the next, and by the time he gave up for the day, his lips were chapped and his fingers were aching. He clasped them together, bending his head over his hands, "Father, please let me find her. I need Your guidance. Let me find her and bring her home. She's alone. She _needs_ me. Please help me find her."

He prayed until he could no longer ignore his grumbling stomach then heated the rest of their leftover Christmas feast in the microwave, the smell of duck and mashed potatoes bringing tears to his eyes. They'd made this together. He peeled the potatoes, and she cooked them. She dressed the duck, and he lifted it into the oven. It was wrong to eat it alone.

Belle had put so much love and care into their Christmas. The day had been perfection up until the end when things fell apart. He ate slowly, reliving the way Belle's eyes had sparkled when she gave him his gifts. There had been love there. Joseph wasn't deluding himself; he _wasn't_. Belle loved him. He had faith.

Drained from the stresses of the day he stumbled upstairs, placing Belle's watch in a place of honor on his dresser right next to his Bible and rosary before collapsing into bed. Last night he'd been so exhausted that he'd dropped off at once, but tonight although his mind was tired, his body refused to cooperate.

The bed which had served him so admirably for so long now seemed far too big for him alone. Even with the covers tucked around him, Joseph was cold, needing Belle's warmth beside him. At the edge of sleep, he reached out to wrap his arms around her and pull her close, snapping back into wakefulness when his arms remained empty.

Whimpering, he rolled over to bury his face against her pillow, and he groaned when her sweet scent enveloped him. It was both torture and bliss to have her familiar scent filling his lungs, and he couldn't pull away, inhaling raggedly to take as much of that scent into himself as he could as his body finally relaxed, soothed by this reminder of his angel.

_Belle stroked his hair as he snuggled closer, his head pillowed in her lap. "It's all right, baby," she crooned, "I'm home now. I'll never leave you again." Tears stung his eyes at the beauty of the moment, waves of bliss washing over him as his angel caressed him. Reaching out, he caught her hand and brought it to his lips, seeing her ring sparkle on her third finger. _

_"I love you, angel," he murmured, pressing his lips to the ring. Soon it would be joined by another, a plain gold band that he would wear the twin to, and his finger felt naked without it. _

_"I love you too, baby," she said at once, her eyes shining with love and happiness that they were together again. She leaned down to press her lips against his, and he groaned, his tongue sweeping into her mouth as he trembled with joy and desire._

_Their clothes fell away as their mouths met in a frenzy, his angel as starving for him as he was for her. He rolled her beneath him, rubbing himself against her shamelessly, and she arched and keened, her hands delving into his hair to keep his mouth against hers. "Now," she gasped against his lips, "_Now_, baby."_

_Unable to deny her anything, he pushed deep in a single thrust, sheathing himself to the hilt, his eyes rolling back in his head as her body clenched around him, her legs wrapping around his hips to hold him close, offering him everything. "Joseph, yes!" she moaned as he started to thrust, her body welcoming him deep. "Oh yes, _yes_. I love you so much. I love you._ I love you_!"_

_"Belle... angel... love you..." he gasped, his arms tight around her as he strained to push even deeper, wanting all of his angel. He loved her so much, had missed her so much, but now they were together again, and everything was perfect. Belle was home. Belle was his. _

Joseph awoke with a cry, grinding himself frantically against the mattress. He was so close that it hurt, and he shut his eyes, struggling to hold onto the wonderful dream. Burying his face in Belle's pillow, he took a deep breath, filling his lungs with her scent as his climax washed over him, his ragged cry muffled as he spilled himself against the sheets.

Whimpering, he rolled out of bed to land on the floor, his shaking hands covering his face as he panted and sobbed. He'd had her back. For the duration of the dream, he'd had his angel back, and she'd held him and said she loved him, and it had been so perfect that he wanted to sleep always. Waking up alone was like losing her all over again, and he couldn't stay in this room where she wasn't.

He stumbled downstairs to the couch, grabbing the afghan off the back to wrap around himself. They'd made love here too, but it somehow wasn't as raw to sleep alone on the couch. It put him closer to the phone in case she called.

Belle didn't call though, and his days fell into a pattern: Mass in the morning, check the machine, leave a message for Belle, call thirty hotels, make the rounds, check the machine, leave a message for Belle, rinse and repeat. In between his attempts to find her, he found himself looking up pregnancy websites, trying to figure out how she might be feeling. According to what he read, she was probably having morning sickness, and his own stomach turned at the thought. He should be with her. He should be taking care of her.

"Father, please help me find her," he pleaded as he knelt before the cross. "Please watch over her and keep her safe. Protect her and our child."

New Year's Eve was difficult. With Midnight Mass he couldn't have kissed her at midnight anyway, yet he couldn't shake the feeling of wrongness that pervaded the evening. They should be together to welcome the new year, the official start to their new life together. Long after the last parishioner left, Joseph knelt at the altar, praying earnestly. "Father, I know this is Your will. I want to obey. Please bring her back to me."

Prayer didn't bring the same comfort, and he returned to the rectory, flopping down on the couch to stare blindly at their Christmas tree. Some of the needles were starting to drop off; he'd forgotten to water it. "Fuck," he muttered, standing up to examine it more closely. It was going brown in places, and the needles felt brittle under his fingers. Belle wouldn't have forgotten.

He filled a glass and crawled under the tree, attempting to pour it into the stand. Half of it splashed on the floor, and the dried needles pulled at his hair, scratching his scalp as he tried to get back out from under the tree without knocking it over. "Fuck!" It swayed dangerously, and he reached out to steady it, knocking over Belle's teapot as he did so.

He cursed again, picking up the teapot to examine it, making sure he'd done no harm. To his relief, it was undamaged, as perfect as the day he'd picked it out, as perfect as the day he'd given it to her. As perfect as the day she'd left it behind.

Shaking, he clutched the teapot in his trembling hands. It was the perfect present, he'd been certain of it. He'd spent long weeks trying to decide what to get her and hours in the shop picking out the absolute perfect tea set, imagining her smile when she unwrapped it.

Belle had smiled when she saw it. And she'd left it behind. She'd left _him_ behind.

With an inarticulate cry of rage, Joseph hurled the teapot at the wall, the ceramic exploding into a million tiny blue shards with a satisfying crash. He stared at the wreckage, his chest heaving, feeling grimly satisfied.

He stepped forward to pick up the cups, meaning to send them to the same fate when a ceramic shard crunched under his shoe with a sad, slippery little noise, and he suddenly realized what he'd done. "No," he whimpered, falling to his knees to try to scoop up all the fragments. "Oh no, no." He'd fix it, he thought wildly. He'd glue it back together. He'd make it right again.

The biggest piece was the size of his thumb, and he keened like an animal. There was no fixing this. In his anger, he'd destroyed Belle's present, taken something beautiful and smashed it to smithereens. "I'm sorry, Belle. I'm sorry," he gasped, his hands shaking too badly to hold the pieces. "I'm _sorry_."

No gentle hand touched his hair. No soft voice offered comfort and absolution, and he sobbed, a broken man surrounded by a broken teapot. Tomorrow he'd clean up the mess, but tonight he couldn't bear to look at what he'd done. Instead, he climbed the stairs, stopping in his room only long enough to change into his sleeping attire before letting himself into hers.

Some of their most meaningful moments had taken place in this room. This was where she'd told him the story of her husband and of Nick. This was where he'd kissed her for the first time. Reaching under the bed he retrieved her wings, remembering Halloween and how beautiful she'd looked dressed as the angel he'd always believed her to be. "Forgive me, Belle." He stroked the feathery surface, fresh tears pricking at his eyes, before he rested his head on the wings and let himself slip into a restless sleep.

He slept late the next day, nearly missing Mass, and awoke feeling like he'd been hit by a truck. Trying not to think about what he was doing, he swept up the shards of ceramic and deposited them in the bin. Tomorrow when the shops were open he'd replace the teapot. Belle would never have to know. Maybe she wouldn't notice that she suddenly had eight cups instead of four.

The previous night had showed him one thing: he needed to find Belle and the sooner the better. She grounded him and balanced him. Without her, everything was dark and cold, and he didn't like the man he became. He _had_ to find Belle.

For two weeks he called hotel after hotel, and every time his hopes were dashed the fear in the pit of his stomach curdled a little more. What if she'd left England all together and gone back to Melbourne or Maine? What if she was using an assumed name so he couldn't find her? What if he _never_ found her?

All he could do was hope and pray and keep trying, and that was exactly what he did. If his parishioners noticed that he was distracted, no one said anything, but he was conscious of eyes upon him and of the one topic that was never addressed in his presence. Since Boxing Day, no one had asked after Belle. He wasn't sure whether to be grateful or not. Joseph didn't have the faintest idea how he could answer their questions, but he wanted- needed- to talk about her. Sometimes in the middle of a lonely night he wondered if she'd ever existed at all, if he'd dreamed up the perfect angel who'd saved his life and restored his faith. On those nights, he clutched her watch until his fingers ached, reassuring himself of her reality. Belle was a gift, not a dream. He would find her again.

One afternoon three weeks after Belle left, there came a knock at the door, and his heart leaped. As far as he knew, Belle still had her key; there was no reason for her to knock, but perhaps she didn't want to startle him. Tripping over his own feet, he stumbled to the door, only to find a ginger-haired man wearing a priest's collar. "Father MacAvoy?" the man asked, thrusting out his hand, "I'm Father Ethan Walker."

This then was his replacement, and he looked the new priest up and down as he shook his hand. He looked impossibly young, the effect not helped by the face full of freckles that went with his red hair. He was tall and lanky and should have looked ridiculous, but he had an air of confidence that Joseph himself had mastered only when he was with Belle. He trusted him at once. "Come in, please," he beckoned, inviting him into the rectory, his mind racing as he tried to remember what had happened when he took the parish over from Father Lewis decades ago.

The guest room- Belle's room- was Ethan's now, and Joseph's room would become the guest room once he moved out. He hoped he'd either find Belle quickly or that Ethan was a generous man, otherwise he was going to find himself living on the street.

He didn't have time to worry about that now. They started with the basics: a tour of the rectory and church as Joseph went over the ins and outs of how things were done, Ethan taking notes and asking intelligent questions that reassured him that he would be leaving the parish in good hands. Still there was one thing he wanted to know, "Do you drink at all?"

At once the young man shook his head. "My father had a drinking problem," he confessed, "I saw what it did to him, and I stayed away from it."

"Good," he murmured, and although the other man looked at him closely, he didn't say anything.

It wasn't until after dinner that Ethan finally asked the question that must have been on his mind all day. "Father, may I ask why you're leaving?"

He'd known the question was coming, and he'd tried to think of what he'd say, how much he should confess to the man who was still a stranger to him. In the end he threw caution to the wind, "Her name is Belle."

They talked late into the night, Joseph telling the young man everything: the alcoholism, his failures, and the way Belle restored his faith. "So, you still believe?" Ethan asked.

"More than ever," he said honestly, "My faith has never been stronger. This is God's will."

"I'll help you find her," Ethan promised, his eyes shining with empathy. "I'd like to meet her."

That night found Joseph in his own bed, and this time the scent of Belle clinging to the sheets brought comfort. He was one step closer to building a life with her. He _would_ find her.

Although he was certain he was doing the right thing, making his announcement was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. Father Ethan had attended Mass, and he'd noticed the parishioners stealing glances at him. After the service, Joseph cleared his throat, "I'd like to introduce Father Ethan Walker," he said, pleased when his voice didn't shake. "It has been my honor to serve as your priest, and I truly thank you for welcoming me into your lives. For personal reasons, I have resigned from the priesthood, and Father Walker will be taking over for me at the end of the week."

Immediately there was an outbreak of noise, and Joseph held up his hands. "We'll be visiting all of you over the next several days so you can get to know Father Walker and ask any questions that you might have. Thank you." He'd come a long way over the past year, but the thought of discussing his personal life in front of a hundred people was more than he could manage.

A crowd was waiting for him as he descended, and Father Ethan stood up, introducing himself, shaking hands, and generally running interference for him, giving him a chance to pull himself back together. What the hell was he going to say when people asked? 'I'm leaving so I can marry Belle. No, I don't know where she is, but I'm looking.' He had to tell them _something_ though.

To his surprise, most people didn't ask. He and Ethan had decided to start on one end of town and work their way geographically through the list of parishioners, saving themselves the backtracking that would have come from doing it in alphabetical order. Most people had the same question, wanting to know if he'd lost his faith, and they seemed relieved by his emphatic denial. "My faith has _never_ been stronger. God's plan for my life is just different than what I initially thought."

He'd feared his flock would be angry or disappointed, but instead they seemed sympathetic. Charles Duncan had seized his hand and shaken it firmly, saying, "Good for you," which Joseph appreciated even if he didn't entirely understand.

Over the four days of visits, only two people asked a question he didn't know how to answer. As Father Ethan chatted with Mrs. Eddard, Ben cornered him, his voice low as he asked, "Is this about Belle?"

Slowly he nodded, not sure what to say to Belle's ex-boyfriend. He wanted to assure the other man that nothing untoward had happened while he and Belle were together, but that would have been a lie. Belle's feelings for him may have been pure at that point, but his own intentions hadn't been. He'd done everything in his power to steal her from Ben.

"I wondered," Ben confessed. "I told myself I was being an idiot, but I wondered about you two."

"I..." he started and trailed off, unable to think of anything else to say.

"Good luck," the other man told him with apparent sincerity, "She deserves to be happy."

"Yes, she does," he rasped, relief making tears prick at his eyes. Belle deserved every happiness in the world, and he was grateful that Ben didn't seem to hold a grudge. Joseph wanted no negativity to cast a pall over their relationship.

When they visited Anne Kelsey, she was even more direct, "So, when is Belle coming home?"

He sucked in a breath, feeling like he'd been kicked in the stomach. "I don't know."

She looked at him sharply, her eyes seeming to bore into his soul and read all of his secrets, but she said nothing more on the topic, instead preferring to grill Father Ethan on his background and theology.

Her question stuck with him for the remainder of the day, and more than anything Joseph wished he knew how to answer it. He and Ethan had been dividing their efforts, taking turns calling hotels, and neither of them was having any luck. Wherever Belle was, she did not want to be found.

His official dismissal arrived the day they visited Mrs. Kelsey, and he stared at it for a full five minutes, his hands shaking. By order of Rome, Joseph MacAvoy was no longer a priest. "I don't know what to say," Ethan admitted as he read the paper over his shoulder, "Congratulations?"

He didn't know what to say either or how to feel. There was no triumph but no regret either. Mostly he just felt lighter, like he could take a full breath after years of being oppressed. He'd done the right thing, and he wanted to tell Belle the good news, but this wasn't something he could tell her voicemail. Instead he settled for a simple, "I'm thinking of you. I love you." when he left his daily message, praying that this time she would finally call him back.

The next day Father Ethan spoke Mass by himself, Joseph sitting in the congregation feeling extremely strange in the civilian clothing he'd purchased from a thrift shop. The black pants and button-down weren't dramatically different from his clerical clothing, but considering how odd it felt to be wearing something different after twenty-five years, he'd might as well have been wearing a dress. Also in his wardrobe were a couple of pairs of jeans, a few other button-downs in other colors and a few sweaters. He'd tried to buy as little as possible, not sure what Belle would want to see him in once he got her back.

He felt completely discombobulated as he wandered around the rectory after the service. The phone rang at the same moment that the doorbell did, and Ethan waved him into the office to get the phone while he answered the door. "Hello?"

No voice answered him, and he tried again as Ethan greeted whoever was at the door, "Hello? Is someone there?"

"Hi." The tiny word was all but inaudible, but Joseph would know her voice anywhere, would know the very sound of her breathing.

"_Belle_? Belle, is that you?" He clutched the side of the desk for support, praying his mind wasn't playing tricks on him.

"Yeah. It's me," she answered, and his knees gave out. Joseph sat down hard on the floor, clinging to the phone like a drowning man as he rested his head against the desk, every fiber of his being concentrated on the sound of her voice at long last.

"Oh my God... Angel... It's _so_ good to hear your voice. Are... are you all right? Is the baby all right? How are you? _Where_ are you?" He was babbling, unable to contain his joy. Belle was talking to him again, and he'd listen to whatever she had to say, and they would fix whatever had gone wrong, and they'd be together again.

On the other end of the line, Belle giggled softly at his stream of questions, and he smiled senselessly at the longed-for sound. "I'm okay. I had my first doctor's appointment today."

Panic clawed at him for a moment before he registered that Belle didn't sound upset the way she would if something had happened to the baby. Appointments were normal during pregnancy. She would need the best of care to ensure her health and safety. "How did it go?"

"Everything looks great," she assured him at once, and he could suddenly breathe again. "I'm due on August sixteenth."

That was less than seven months away, and his mind raced ahead, imagining the pair of them and their baby on a beautiful summer day. In a matter of months, they would be parents. "That's amazing, angel," he rasped, blinking back tears. Their baby would be here so soon, and they had to work things out first. "Have you thought any more about... Will you please come home?"

"I can't," she said softly, and he whimpered at the denial. "You know I can't."

He knew nothing of the sort. He wasn't a priest anymore. There was nothing stopping them from being together. "Angel-"

Belle cut him off before he could explain, "I'm _sorry_, Joseph. I'll call you again, okay? Bye."

"Belle, wait. Belle!" All he heard was the soft click of a broken connection, and he slammed the receiver down. "_Fuck_!"

He stormed out of the office, coming up short when he saw Ethan and Mrs. Kelsey both staring at him. His face heated when he realized they'd overheard at least part of the conversation and his cursing. "Mrs. Kelsey, I... I apologize."

"Never you mind," she said briskly, shoving a casserole dish into Ethan's hands and aiming him at the kitchen to put it away. "I was hoping you could do me a favor."

"Of course!" he agreed instantly, relieved that she didn't seem shocked by his language. Still, he wanted to make amends.

She held a bag out to him, and he took it at once. "Belle left her knitting at my house and asked me to send it to her, but I'm afraid I'm a little busy today. Could you make certain that she gets it? Her address is inside."

Joseph nearly dropped the lightweight bag as he gaped at her. She knew where Belle was. She was _telling_ him where Belle was.

Her eyes sparked with mischief. "I really appreciate it," she said, and he nodded dumbly, clutching the bag like he was afraid it would be ripped out of his hands.

The second she left, he tore it open, finding the small piece of paper and committing the address to memory, "2187 Shillingford Street. Exeter." He had to look at his map in order to identify the town as one approximately five hours southwest of Middlesbrough that he and Ethan had crossed off days ago. No wonder they hadn't found her. She wasn't staying in a hotel.

"You can borrow my car," Ethan offered immediately, and Joseph shook his head. If he borrowed Ethan's car, he'd have to return it, and nothing was going to pull him away from Belle's side once they were finally reunited. He'd take the train.

According to the train schedule, it would take six hours for him to reach Belle, and his spirit chafed at the thought and at having to wait until the next morning to start his journey. He couldn't show up at her front door at midnight. Yet it would be worth the extra night's wait to never have to be separated from her again.

Within an hour his bag was packed, everything he owned fitting into one duffel. The ornaments from their tree and Belle's replacement tea set didn't fit, so they'd have to pick those up later. They could bring her car.

Tactfully, Ethan left him alone to pace and worry about the reception that he would receive. Belle loved him, but she might not be happy to see him. He'd camp out on her front stoop if that was what it took to get her to let him in, and they _would_ talk this out, no matter how long it took. They were a family, and nothing could keep a family apart.

He slept little that night, spending most of it on his knees. "Father, please help me. Give me the right words. Show me what to do to fix things. I'd do anything for her. Please guide me."

By dawn he was at the railway station, Ethan waving him off with a blessing. The slow pace made his teeth grind in frustration when he wanted to simply fly to her side, and Joseph distracted himself by trying to come up with a plan for what he'd do once they were reunited. He was homeless and jobless, and although he knew Belle would take him in the same way he'd once opened his home to her, he still needed to be able to support her and their child.

Middlesbrough had a juvenile detention center that always seemed to be in need of counselors; that was an option. Now that he'd been defrocked, he was no longer permitted to provide religious counsel, but there was no reason he couldn't use his skills in a secular environment. Perhaps he could find a rehab center. His own experience with alcoholism might be invaluable when it came to reaching out to recovering addicts.

It all depended on where Belle wanted to live. Middlesbrough had been his home for over two decades, but if she preferred to stay in Exeter or go elsewhere, he would follow without complaint. His home was wherever Belle was.

Shortly after one, he arrived in Exeter, hailing a taxi to take him to Shillingford Street, watching the scenery with interest as he wondered what had drawn Belle to the town. It was a pretty place, and he could easily envision them raising their child here.

His heart nearly stopped when the driver pulled up in front of a small cottage, his hands shaking so badly he could scarcely hand over the fare. After weeks of searching, he was only meters away from Belle. For a long moment he just stood on the pavement and stared at the cottage, trying to convince himself this was real. He was about to see Belle again.

He'd taken pains with his appearance that morning, choosing a pair of jeans, a white button-down, and a gray sweater, wanting Belle to know from the moment she saw him that things had changed. He smoothed his hair then reached into his pocket to clutch at the watch for strength as he shouldered his bag and stepped onto her porch, straining his ears for any sign of movement from inside.

Hearing nothing, he watched himself raise his fist and knock sharply on the doorframe, the rush of terror that filled him leaving him nauseous. What if Mrs. Kelsey had made a mistake and gotten the address wrong? What if this wasn't really Belle's home? If a stranger opened the door, the disappointment might well kill him.

For a moment Joseph heard nothing, then footsteps approached the door. "Father, _please_!" he begged, unable to manage anything more coherent than that as he heard the lock turn.

The door opened and he nearly fell to his knees at the sight of his angel clad in a soft blue sweater-dress. Her curls were loose about her face, her feet bare, and she'd never looked more beautiful. "_Belle_." Her name was all he could think to say, his voice hoarse and ragged as her eyes widened at the sight of him.

"Joseph?" she breathed, like she wasn't sure it was really him, and he whimpered at the sound of her voice. So long, it had been so _long_ since he'd seen her, and all he wanted to do was pull her into his arms and never let go again. "You..."

Her eyes swept over him, taking in his attire, and he swallowed hard, waiting to see approval or condemnation in her gaze. Instead she just looked blank, staring at him as though she didn't quite believe he was there. "Me," he agreed.

Her face turned stricken, a furrow forming between her brows, and in that instant he expected her to slam the door in his face and order him to never come near her again. Her fingers clenched on the doorknob, her body tense, then she was suddenly in his arms.

"Belle... angel..." he gasped, tightening his hold on her to pull her closer yet as he buried his face in her hair, drawing in breath after breath of her scent. She was so warm in his arms, so soft, and he dragged her even closer, feeling her heart hammering in her chest.

"Joseph... baby..." she moaned, and he could feels dampness against his neck as she sobbed. He tried to wrap himself around her even more, wanting to take her into himself so he could keep her always safe and protected. Without loosening his hold on her, he stumbled into the house, kicking the door shut behind them to shield them from any prying eyes. This moment was theirs, and it was sacred. He and Belle were reunited at last, and he would permit nothing to ever separate them again.


	18. Chapter 17

Belle buried her nose in Joseph's throat, taking breath after breath of his warm, familiar scent as she sobbed in relief. He was holding her so tightly she could feel his heartbeat, and for the first time in weeks she felt safe. All the loneliness and misery drained away, driven back by the fierce glow of love. She was home again.

Slipping her hands beneath his coat, she rubbed his back, feeling the soft wool of his sweater. The clothing had thrown her, and for half a moment when she first opened the door to him, she'd thought she'd found a fourth doppelganger, but his gentle, hesitant expression was unmistakable. Only one possibility remained: he'd gone through with it. Joseph had resigned from the priesthood.

This was _bad_, and her heart wrenched at the knowledge that he must have done it for her despite her plea for him not to. Yet when she pulled back enough to look up at his tearstained face, his eyes shining with happiness and love, she couldn't bring herself to tell him he'd made a mistake. Instead she wrapped her hand around the back of his neck to pull him down for the kiss she'd been missing for the last three weeks.

"Angel," he moaned against her lips, then his tongue was slipping into her mouth to caress hers, his hands yanking her even closer, and she _needed_ this. She shoved his coat off his shoulders, and he released her only long enough to shrug out of it before hauling her back against him. It landed with a soft thump on the floor, and somehow they'd made it into the house although Belle couldn't remember moving. That was convenient. Grabbing him by the front of his sweater, she walked backwards towards the sofa, their lips never parting as she sat down, pulling him down on top of her.

"I missed you," she whispered into his mouth, then they were kissing again, long, sweet kisses edged with desperation as he blanketed her with his body, his hands plowing into her hair to hold her in place. Through his jeans- Joseph was wearing _jeans_- she could feel his excitement, and she wriggled beneath him until he was lying between her legs, his hardness pressed against her softness, and she arched into him with a quavering moan.

They had far too many clothes on, and she was tugging at the hem of his sweater, trying to get it off of him without releasing his mouth, when he pulled back, his hands capturing hers. "Belle... Belle, wait..." he panted, and she blinked up at him in dismay. She didn't want to wait. She didn't want to _think_. All she wanted to do was revel in having him with her again for as long as she could keep him before they had to be separated again.

"We have to _talk_," he said raggedly, and the temptation to lean up and kiss him again, to exploit her knowledge of his sensitive places and drive any thought of talking out of his mind was nearly irresistible. It would also be wrong. Joseph was right; they had to talk. Reluctantly, she nodded.

He sat up, pulling her with him and keeping one hand on her waist like he couldn't bear to be out of contact with her as the other came to rest on her abdomen. "Hi, sweetheart," he murmured, the words addressed to her stomach. "Daddy missed you. I missed both of you," he concluded, his eyes meeting hers and seeming to look into her soul.

"And we both missed you. You look wonderful, baby," she tried to smile, stroking her hands over his arms. The softer gray suited him better than harsh black ever did, and Joseph somehow seemed more centered than she'd ever seen him before. Some of the hesitance and worry was gone, replaced by a burgeoning confidence that did her heart good to see. He was going to be all right. If he'd gotten through the last weeks unscathed, he'd be just fine.

He smiled, looking shyly pleased at the compliment. "My official dismissal came two days ago. I'm not a priest anymore."

Belle's heart sank. She'd hoped it wasn't a permanent change he'd made, that he'd be able to return to the Church once she convinced him that they couldn't be together the way he wanted them to be. Despite her best efforts, she'd ruined his life after all, and the self-loathing all but choked her. Closing her eyes, she whispered, "I didn't want you to leave for me."

"I didn't," he said unexpectedly, reaching for her hands and holding on tightly as he explained, "I did it for _me_, angel. I'm not the same man who took those vows. Everything is different now. It would have been dishonest to stay."

That was some comfort, and she squeezed his hands. "What about your calling?"

"I was called to help people. I don't have to be a priest for that." His eyes shone as he picked up speed, his voice confident. "I want to be a counselor. I can work with kids who are in trouble or with addicts. I think I'm uniquely qualified. I think I'll be good at it."

The shame that she'd always seen in his eyes when something reminded him of his alcoholism was gone. Instead there was peace there now. He'd accepted that part of himself and found worth there. Tears stung her eyes as she nodded, "I think you'll be wonderful at it."

He lifted her hands to his mouth to kiss them, keeping them against his chest as he met her eyes. "Resigning was the right thing to do. I'm not sorry."

Belle could read the honesty in his eyes, and it allowed her to draw a full breath. He was right; this was the right decision for him. Perhaps he'd meet someone in his new work and find love again. A flash of pain stabbed her heart at the thought, and she viciously tamped it down. Joseph deserved love more than anyone she'd ever known. She had no right to be jealous. "Then I'm happy for you."

Before she could think of anything else to say, Joseph slipped off the sofa, her hands still held tightly in his as he knelt before her. "There's nothing keeping us apart now, Belle. Please say you'll be my wife."

She was surprised he couldn't hear her heart cracking in her chest as she gazed down into his hopeful eyes. "I can't," she whispered, the words dropping into the silence like poison, and she closed her eyes, not wanting to see the pain in his as she refused him again.

A tender hand cupped the side of her face, "Tell me why."

Telling him that she didn't love him over the phone had been agonizing. Belle couldn't bring herself to lie to his face. There was no way she could ever say those horrible words again. There was nothing left to do but tell the truth, even if he wouldn't believe her. "Because I'm cursed."

She paused, waiting for a protest that didn't come. When she managed to open her eyes, Joseph was looking at her intently, and he nodded for her to continue. "I lose everyone I love. My husband, Nick... If I stay with you, I'll lose you too."

"I will _never_ leave you, Belle," he said, his voice low and intense.

Belle bit back a sob. "You're the third man to make that promise, and the first two both broke it. If we stay together, you'll die. I won't let that happen."

He cradled her face, stroking her tears away with his thumbs as he seemed to gather his thoughts. "Shouldn't it be my choice?" he asked at last. "If it's my life that's in danger? Shouldn't I be the one to decide whether or not to take the risk?"

_No one decides my fate but me. _ The words floated through her mind, and she tried to force them back into their box. It wasn't the same. Joseph couldn't make this decision, because he didn't have all the facts, and there was no way she'd ever be able to tell him. 'Baby, I'm not from Australia. I'm from a different world altogether, and my husband's name was Rumpelstiltskin. Yes, that one. A witch killed him with magic. And that special project I worked on with Nick? It was a spaceship.' Yes, that would go over well. She trusted that Joseph wouldn't have her committed, but he'd certainly have doubts about her sanity.

"It wouldn't be a real decision, because you don't believe me," she tried to explain, and he shook his head.

"It doesn't matter whether or not I believe you, my answer's the same either way," he said firmly, moving to sit beside her on the couch. "I love you. I want to be with you. You are worth any risk. If being with you means I'll die sooner,_ I don't care_. I would rather have six months with you and the baby than thirty years on my own."

"You'll meet someone else-" she started, and this time he cut her off.

"I'm forty-eight years old, and you are the only woman I've ever looked at. There is _nobody_ for me but you." The words were set in stone, an absolute fact.

"I can't let you die!" she blurted, desperate for him to understand, and Joseph squeezed her hands soothingly.

"_Everyone_ dies," he reminded her, pulling her close when tears spilled down her cheeks. "Can we please just be happy while we're alive?"

"How can I be happy knowing that I'm going to kill you?" she asked in despair, burying herself in his arms in an effort to disappear. They'd both be miserable apart, but they couldn't be together. She couldn't let him sacrifice his life for her. No matter what she did, Joseph was going to suffer, and she hated herself for doing this to him.

"Do you regret marrying your husband?" he asked, running his hand over her back in long, comforting strokes.

The question gave her pause, and she wiped her face on his sweater as her tears dried up. "Of course not."

"How about Nick?" he pressed. "Do you regret loving him?"

"No!" she protested, sitting up so she could look at him.

"Then what's the difference?" His dark eyes pleaded with her. "You wouldn't trade the time you had together, would you? Not even though it ended badly?"

No amount of pain would ever be enough for her to wish away one moment she'd spent with Rumpelstiltskin or Nick, and she could never truly regret the time she'd spent with Joseph. It was for his sake, not her own that she wished they'd never met. He didn't deserve to suffer, and he certainly didn't deserve to die. "You don't understand."

"Belle, I'm trying!" he burst out, his voice frustrated, "It's my life, and I want to spend it with you no matter how long it is. Why won't you let me?"

"Because I can't lose you!" she exclaimed, jumping off the couch to put some distance between them. Losing Rumpelstiltskin and Nick had all but destroyed her, if she lost Joseph too she would completely fall apart. "I can't do it again! I love you too much to let you die when I can save you."

Joseph's eyes went wide, and she thought back over what she'd just said, whimpering with dismay when she realized what she'd let slip. There was no stopping her curse now, and she half expected the ground to open up and swallow him now that she'd said those words and signed his death warrant.

"Say it again," he rasped, seemingly frozen in place.

There was no point in pretending she didn't know what he wanted. "Joseph..."

"Belle, _please_." He looked desperate, and what was the harm now? It was already too late.

"I love you," she confessed, and the words seemed to restore his power of movement because he rose from the sofa to take her in his arms, his cheek rubbing against hers.

"Again. Please," he begged, his lips against her ear.

"I love you, Joseph. I have from the start. I love you, baby." She'd been swallowing the words for so many months that saying them came as a tremendous relief. "I love you so much."

"Angel..." he moaned, his mouth closing over her throat as he sucked tenderly, and her knees went weak as desire flooded her. She plunged her hands into his hair, scratching gently against his scalp, and he gasped, his teeth scraping against her delicate skin.

Using her grip on his head, she pulled his mouth up to hers, their tongues sliding against each other as they relearned each other's flavor after too many days apart. Nothing had been resolved; they still couldn't be together, but they were in love, and in this moment that was all that mattered. "Upstairs?" she suggested breathlessly, and he swallowed hard and nodded.

Hand in hand, she led him to her bedroom, feeling unaccountably shy as they stood at the foot of the bed, just looking at each other. "You look very handsome," she murmured, the compliment addressed mostly to his collarbone.

"I wasn't sure how you'd want to see me dressed," he confessed, stepping closer to frame her face with his hands as he leaned in for another kiss. Belle's heart cracked a little more at the words, but she found a smile for him.

"I think you look perfect," she assured him, and he blushed. Enchanted, she leaned up for another kiss, her hands sliding under his sweater to stroke his chest through his shirt.

He exhaled sharply, resting his forehead against hers as she rubbed her thumbs against his nipples, feeling them harden for her. "You've never looked more beautiful," he whispered. "I love you so much, angel."

"I love you too," she murmured, and something hot flared in his eyes. With his help, Belle dragged his sweater off over his head and went to work on the buttons of his shirt as his own hands roamed her body restlessly, seeking out all of his favorite places.

Once she had him stripped to the waist, he pulled her back into his arms, groaning as her breasts pressed against his bare chest, and this was _exactly_ where she was supposed to be. Her hands fluttered over him, trying to touch everywhere at once, and he caught her mouth in a searing kiss that made her arch helplessly into him.

Without his strong hands on her back, Belle would have fallen, but Joseph kept her safe, holding her tightly against him as he explored her, stroking his tongue over the roof of her mouth in the way he knew made her knees go weak.

When his hands found the hem of her dress, she released him only long enough to let him pull it off of her, and then her nearly naked body was pressed against his again. She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so warm.

"_Angel_," he sighed the endearment, and she responded to it like a caress, groaning throatily as he laid her down on the bed, his hands going to his belt as he looked to her for reassurance.

"Yes, baby." She helped him with his belt and the fly of his jeans, and he abandoned his boxers at the same time, getting briefly tangled up in his shoes, and this brief glimpse of her adorably-awkward lover made her smile.

He chuckled at the mishap, joining her on the bed. His mouth fused with hers as he unfastened her bra without looking, and Belle was struck again by how very far he'd come since they first started this. Whatever happened, these were memories that she would always treasure, and she hoped he felt the same way.

Her knickers were the last thing to go, and for a long moment he just looked at her, his face alight with wonder. Tears glinted in his eyes, and although he tried to smile at her, he couldn't quite manage it. "I had faith. I did. But there were times I was so afraid I'd never see you again," he confessed hoarsely. Her own eyes burned as she reached up to cradle the side of his face, and he sighed at the touch, turning his head to kiss her palm. "I'll never let you go, angel. I _can't_."

Leaning down, he lavished her collarbone with kisses before turning his attention to her breasts, moaning with pleasure as he rediscovered all the places that made her gasp. Working his way lower, he lingered at her belly, painting every inch of her skin with his lips and tongue before rubbing his cheek against her. "I love you too, little one," he murmured, and she stroked her fingers through his hair.

Belle groaned as he moved lower yet, his tongue lapping at her greedily. Her body sang with pleasure as he sought out all of her sensitive spots, but although it felt glorious, it wasn't what she wanted. She wanted him to come with her.

Tugging at his hair, she pulled him back up to her, sweeping her tongue over his glistening lips before pleading, "Inside me. Please."

He exhaled harshly, his teeth scraping over her neck as she cradled him between her thighs. "Angel... Let me... I should..." She rocked her hips up, his hard cock rubbing against her folds, and his cry echoed through the room. "Belle, I won't _last_."

"I don't care," she murmured, reaching down to wrap her fingers around him, his heat searing her as she lined them up. "Please, baby."

With a guttural groan, Joseph pushed in, his body trembling in her arms with the effort of moving slowly as he breached her, easing himself in to the hilt. Once he was completely sheathed inside of her, he buried his face against her throat, and Belle could feel wetness as he sobbed.

"It's okay, baby," she whispered, caressing him everywhere she could reach. "I'm here. I love you."

"I _dreamed_ about this," he moaned, lifting his head so he could brush his lips against hers and gaze into her eyes. "I dreamed I had you back, and I woke up alone."

The pain in his voice tore at her heart. Belle wrapped herself around him, pressing their bodies as tightly together as she could as he started to thrust gently. "You're not alone now," she assured him, "This isn't a dream, baby."

"I can't be without you, Belle," he pleaded, "Don't leave me again. Don't send me away. Just let me be with you."

"I love you." She brushed her lips against his, and it wasn't an answer, but he whimpered, his mouth finding hers in a fierce kiss as his thrusts grew sharper.

"I love you, angel." She shifted beneath him so that with each stroke he rubbed against the place where she needed him most, and in a matter of moments she was coming apart at the seams, moaning her love for him as she trembled in his arms.

A scant moment later, Joseph followed her over the precipice, and she clung to him, stroking his damp skin as he shuddered and groaned, his heat flooding her and burning away all of the lingering unhappiness of the previous weeks. Even though it couldn't last, they were together now.

He rolled off of her immediately, tugging her into his arms so he could spoon up behind her. "Marry me, Belle," he panted into her ear even before he'd recovered his breath.

"I can't," she whispered, half-hoping he wouldn't hear her.

Tender lips placed a kiss just below her ear. "I'm sorry," she whimpered, and he hugged her closer.

"Just rest, angel. Close your eyes. I'll be here when you wake up." Belle obeyed, a wave of exhaustion washing over her. Joseph kissed her again, his voice low as he vowed, "I'm not going anywhere."

Sleep came easily in his arms, and when she awoke, Belle found her head resting on a pillow in his lap as he stroked her hair. "Hi."

He beamed down at her, looking happier than he'd been since she refused him on Christmas Day. "Hey. You're awake."

"What time is it?" she yawned. Through the curtains she could see faint daylight, but she felt like she'd slept for weeks.

"Around five," he answered, his hand never stopping its hypnotic strokes. His grin had faded, but his eyes still sparkled with happiness, and Belle found herself helplessly smiling back.

"What?" she asked, fighting the urge to giggle, his joy contagious even if she didn't know what had caused it.

"We're getting married," he informed her, and she felt like he'd thrown a bucket of ice water over her.

"Joseph..." He tugged lightly on her hair to stop her protest.

"Hear me out. The only reason you won't marry me is because you're cursed, right?" He seemed utterly serious about the curse, and she allowed herself to hope that he finally believed her.

"Right," she agreed, not certain what he was getting at.

He grinned like she'd given him the world, then leaned down and covered her mouth with his, kissing her thoroughly. Belle responded, blinking in surprise when he sat back up and announced, "You're not cursed anymore."

"What?" Usually she could follow his thought processes, but he had her completely befuddled.

If anything, he just looked happier. "True Love's Kiss will break any curse. I love you, and you love me. We just kissed. Your curse is broken."

Belle barely heard the majority of his statement, too focused on his first sentence. "How do you know that?" she breathed, her mind racing. Joseph didn't know anything about magic. "Who told you that?"

Proudly, he held up the book of fairy tales that he'd bought for the baby. She'd taken to leaving it on her nightstand so she could read it a bedtime story. Apparently he'd been reading it while she napped. "Snow White. Sleeping Beauty. Beauty and the Beast," he ticked off on his fingers. "True Love's Kiss always works."

If he said anything else, Belle couldn't hear him. Her ears roared as she stared up blindly, memories buffeting her- _True Love's Kiss will break any curse... This means it's True Love! ...Love is the most powerful magic of all.'_ Belle knew True Love. She also knew _magic_. She'd lived with the most powerful sorcerer of all time for years; she'd picked up more than a few things, and what she hadn't learned from Rumpelstiltskin, she'd seen with her own eyes. Regina's death had opened up a way back to the Enchanted Forest; she'd watched it happen. Curses did not outlive their casters.

There was no curse. She and Nick had truly loved each other. If there had been a curse, they would have broken it a thousand times over. His accident had been nothing more than a tragic bit of bad luck, and in her grief she'd turned it into something it was not.

It wasn't her fault. She didn't kill Nick. She wouldn't kill Joseph.

She inhaled raggedly, feeling like she was taking a full breath for the first time since Nick Ascended. Somewhere on the edge of her awareness she heard an exasperated Scottish accent exclaim, "It's about _fucking_ time!" and then she snapped back into reality, realizing that tears were streaming down her face and Joseph looked utterly terrified.

"Belle?" His hands were shaking as he wiped away her tears, and her name was little more than a strangled croak.

"Did you say something?" she asked, and he gaped at her.

"Well, I said your name about fifty times," he answered, some of the tension bleeding out of him. "Are you all right? What _happened_?"

She sniffled, grabbing a corner of the sheet to wipe her face with impatiently. "It worked," she gasped, her voice caught in the strange place between laughter and tears. "Ask me again."

"Are you all right?" he asked again. This time she laughed.

"No, baby. _Ask_ me," she prompted, and his eyes widened.

"Will... will you marry me, Belle?" he stammered, and she closed her eyes and just enjoyed the moment. He wasn't a priest. She wasn't cursed. There was _nothing_ stopping them from being together.

Opening her eyes, she beamed up at him. "Yes."


	19. Chapter 18

"Y-yes?" he repeated, staring down into Belle's blazing eyes in wonder. The last five minutes had been the most terrifying of his life. She'd gone completely silent after he announced they'd broken her curse, her glazed blue eyes not seeming to see him at all. She didn't respond to his increasingly frantic calls of her name, and the tears that poured down her face had nearly stopped his heart. Now she was beaming up at him, her eyes clear and bright as she calmly told him she'd be his wife.

"Yes." Her dimpled smile provoked an answering one from him despite his lingering shock. "I'll marry you."

Surreptitiously, Joseph dug his nails into his flesh, wondering if he was dreaming. The brief flash of pain assured him that he was awake. This was real. Belle had just promised to be his wife.

He should be saying something, he realized. He should be telling her how happy she'd made him, thanking her for changing her mind. He should be thanking God for reuniting them and showing him how to convince her, but he couldn't do anything but stare at her in amazement.

Belle giggled, the sound a little watery, and he set to work wiping the tear stains off her face with a corner of the sheet. Her reaction to him breaking her curse had been so extreme that for the first time Joseph found himself wondering if something supernatural really had happened. Surely that was ridiculous; there was no such thing as curses.

Belle had certainly believed she was cursed, and as long as she believed they'd broken it that was all that mattered to him. Now there was nothing standing in their way- not her curse, not his vows, _nothing_- and they were going to be married.

Finally, he managed to find his voice. "My angel," he rasped, his voice thick with unshed tears, "My wife."

Her smile grew brighter even as new tears appeared in her eyes. "My husband," she whispered, reaching up to touch his face.

With a sob of pure joy, he caught her hand in his, turning his face to kiss her palm as he let the words wash over him. He was going to be her husband. Belle was _finally_ going to be his wife. "Your ring," he blurted, his eyes snapping open, "You need your ring."

"We'll get it later," she promised, but Joseph wasn't willing to wait. He'd waited months to see his ring on his angel's finger, and he couldn't wait a moment longer.

"I'll be right back," he vowed, scrambling off the bed and all but sprinting for the stairs, only vaguely aware that he was still naked. Hopefully all of Belle's windows were covered.

His bag was in the entranceway where he'd dropped it, his coat in a heap on top, and he took a moment to hang it up, smiling at the sight of his coat in the closet next to Belle's gray peacoat. From this point on, that was going to be a permanent fixture. Their lives and belongings would be completely entwined.

Joseph grabbed the bag and carried it up upstairs, placing it on the chair in her bedroom in order to unzip the pocket containing the ring box. There would be time enough to unpack later, at the moment this was all he needed. Belle was sitting on the side of the bed, the sheet wrapped loosely around her, and he moved to kneel at her feet. The first time he did this it had been perfect and she'd said no. This time they were both naked and disheveled from sex and sleep, but if she said yes, the details wouldn't matter.

Opening the box, he offered her the ring, "I love you, Belle. I never want to be without you again. Let me make us a family. Will you marry me, angel?"

Her smile lit the room as she cradled his face and leaned down for a kiss, murmuring her answer against his lips, "Yes, baby."

With shaking hands Joseph withdrew the ring from the box and slipped it onto her finger, praying that it would fit. It slid into place like it had been made for her, the trio of diamonds sparkling like they were happy too. It looked beautiful on her finger, absolutely perfect, and Joseph couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight of his ring gracing his angel's hand at long, long last.

"It's beautiful, baby," she murmured as she admired the ring, and his heart swelled with pride that he'd chosen well, "I should have told you that before."

There was an unhappy note in her voice that made him look up, his heart sinking at the guilty expression on her face. "It doesn't matter," he said roughly, moving to sit beside her so he could put his arms around her. "You're wearing it now."

"I shouldn't have said no. I shouldn't have left," she whispered against his neck, and Joseph maneuvered them so they were lying down, cocooned in the blanket. "I ruined our Christmas."

"Our Christmas was _beautiful_," he contradicted. Until his failed proposal, the day had been pure magic, and now that Belle had agreed to be his wife, he could even think of the end of the day with equanimity. It she'd said yes that night, it would have been perfect, but life wasn't perfect. It couldn't be perfect. The pain of the last three weeks just made their current happiness all the more precious.

Belle looked up, her eyes anguished, and he pulled her a little closer until their noses bumped. "Why aren't you angry? I _left_ you."

He brushed a soothing kiss against her lips. "I was," he told her frankly. He'd been hurt and furious and grief-stricken and devastated all at once, but the way she'd immediately thrown herself into his arms at their reunion had gone a long way toward healing those wounds. Learning that she'd left him in an effort to protect him - even if that attempt had been misguided- had eased any lingering pain. It wasn't what he'd wanted to happen, but it was over now. They were together, and that was all that mattered. "I'm afraid I broke your teapot."

Joseph wasn't quite sure what to make of the expression on her face, but she was quick to reassure him, "It's just a teapot."

"I threw it at the wall on New Year's Eve. I _missed_ you. It made me feel better for about five seconds," he admitted, and Belle looked like she wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. "I replaced it."

Her eyes flooded with tears. "You didn't need to- Oh baby, I'm so _sorry_!"

He stroked her hair as he she buried her face against his neck. "Hush, angel, hush. It's all right. You made a mistake, that's all." He'd made more than his fair share of mistakes in his lifetime, Belle was certainly entitled to one of her own.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again, clinging to him every bit as tightly as he was holding on to her.

"I forgive you," he told her, cupping her chin and coaxing her to look at him. Once he could see her teary eyes, he gave her his most encouraging smile as he kissed the tip of her nose. "I forgive you, Belle. It's over. Please stop crying, angel."

"I love you," she said desperately, like she was trying to convince him. "I've loved you for months. I didn't tell you because... because I..."

He cut her off with a soft kiss. "Because you were scared," he finished for her. Belle was so brave that he'd thought nothing could upset her, but now that he thought about it, Joseph couldn't believe how blind he'd been. She'd lost both the men who she'd loved. Of course she was afraid to love again. He'd listened to her words, but there was so much that she hadn't said that he should have heard anyway. They'd both made mistakes. They should have talked about the idea of marriage, eased into it instead of him surprising her with a proposal. He winged a quick prayer Heavenward that things had come out right anyway.

"Tell me one more time, and we'll call it even," he murmured, and he was relieved to see a small smile bloom on her face.

"I love you, baby," she whispered against his lips. "I love you, Joseph. I love you, my husband."

Joseph hadn't been prepared for what hearing those words would do to him. "Oh God..." he breathed, not sure if he was praying or cursing as he rolled her beneath him. "Belle... my angel. My _wife_."

His mouth found hers in a searing kiss, and Belle's hands plunged into his hair, keeping him close even when he pulled back enough to tell her, "I've wanted to marry you for months. Ever since the grenade got us. The doctor called you Mrs. MacAvoy, and it was all I could think about."

She made a soft sound of sympathy, and he plowed on, unable to halt his confession, "I wanted it to be my ring you wore. I used to pretend that it was, that you were mine."

"I am, baby," she whispered, pulling him down for another kiss. "I'm yours."

Privately Joseph thought it was the other way around- he belonged to Belle- but now wasn't the time to argue. "The first night we made love, I said my vows. I thought that was all I'd ever have. Angel, this is _so_ much better." Everyone would see his ring on her finger and know that they belonged together. He'd be able to say his vows aloud in front of God and the world, and Belle would be his in every way possible, his forever. His dreams of the future had been beautiful, but the reality was so exquisite that it was almost painful.

Belle sucked tenderly on his bottom lip, then murmured, "I, Belle, take you, Joseph, to be my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, for as long as we both shall live."

He couldn't breathe as she whispered the beautiful words, the words that made them one in the eyes of God. It didn't matter if the Church never recognized their marriage, their union was blessed. "Angel..." he moaned, "I love you."

"I love you too," she vowed, her blue eyes gazing into his like she could see his trembling soul. With a muffled cry he seized her mouth, and Belle clutched him close, wriggling beneath him to cradle him between her thighs. Part of Joseph wanted to take his time and worship her, but even more intense than that was the need to consummate their relationship, to claim her in the most primitive of ways and reassure himself that they would never be parted again.

Belle arched beneath him, her body begging for his possession as she stroked her tongue against his, and he paused only long enough to make certain that she was ready for him before taking himself in hand and easing his way into her.

They broke apart as he pushed deep, breath mingling as he sheathed himself to the hilt. Belle's legs wrapped around his hips, her arms holding him close as he clung to her, their eyes meeting in shocked pleasure as the moment stretched into a blissful eternity, he and Belle truly one at last- hearts and bodies and souls. "My wife," he rasped, and she moaned like the words were a caress.

"My husband." He groaned, perspiration breaking out over his body as he pulled out a few inches and slid back in, relishing the way Belle wrapped around him, surrounding him completely. Nothing in the world compared to being close to his angel, and he still wasn't worthy of her, but she was his now, and he'd never let her go. Somehow, with God's help and Belle's guidance, he would find a way to deserve her.

This was his forever, his happily ever after, and as long as he had Belle and their baby, he would want for nothing. Three decades of loneliness and depression was a small price to pay for such an astonishing gift.

Joseph kept his thrusts slow and gentle, struggling to draw it out, make it last as long as possible. They had years of lovemaking to look forward to, but this was their first time as an engaged couple, and he never wanted it to end. Belle stroked his back, her fingers tracing his spine in a way that soothed and aroused all at the same time, her tongue caressing his, offering him everything she was just as he tried to give her all of himself. He was hers- utterly and completely- anything in him that was good was because of her.

Try as he might, he was only a man, and the pleasure eventually became too much. Beneath him, Belle arched and moaned as his fingers found the sweet bud between her legs, and he managed to hold back only long enough to watch her pleasure with rapt eyes before he found his own.

In the aftermath, he cuddled her closer yet, his entire being singing with pleasure and joy. It was growing late, well past dinner time, but his body's needs were far less important than the needs of his soul. Joseph couldn't bear to let her out of his arms.

Belle burrowed against him, showing no sign that she wanted to be anywhere else. "How did you find me?" she finally asked.

Joseph chuckled, "Mrs. Kelsey took pity on me. She said you'd asked her to return your knitting, but she didn't have time, so she asked me to do it instead. It's in my bag."

She giggled, her index finger tracing patterns over his chest. "I should have known she was up to something."

"I would have found you eventually," he promised, resting his cheek on her hair, "I never would have stopped looking."

"I'm sor-" she started to say again, and he cut her off with a kiss. No more apologies were necessary. Belle smiled at him indulgently when he released her and tried again, "What else did you do while I was gone?"

Looking back, there had been more good in those three weeks than he'd realized. He'd missed her desperately, but Ethan had been a staunch support. Belle would like him. "Trained my replacement."

She lifted her head to look at him, and he stole another kiss before starting to tell her about his interview with Bishop Terry and Father Ethan's arrival, pausing only long enough to get both of them out of bed when Belle's stomach growled. It wouldn't do for the baby to be hungry just because Daddy couldn't let go of Mummy.

The story carried them through dinner as he described how Ethan had helped him in his quest and how well he'd meshed with the parishioners. "He sounds wonderful," Belle said as she sipped at a cup of tea, "I'm glad the church is in such good hands."

"I told him all about you," he confessed, and she smiled and put her hand over his, "He's looking forward to meeting you."

"The feeling's mutual," she promptly assured him. "Do you want him to marry us?"

Joseph's heart sank at her question, and he turned his hand over to catch hers as he stood up, silently asking her to join him. Belle followed him to the sofa, curling up in his arms without a hint of complaint. He needed to hold her when he made this confession.

"He can't," he told her, hoping what he was about to say wouldn't make her change her mind. "It's not... I... The priesthood and the vow of celibacy are two separate things. I'm not a priest anymore, but I'm still held to that vow."

Belle snorted, and he had to laugh too. He'd been breaking that vow over and over again for months, and it seemed ridiculous that it would be getting in the way now. "I applied for a dispensation to be released from it. Without approval, the Church won't recognize our marriage."

It bothered him that the Church would see them as living in sin. He'd devoted his life to service, and being denied the chance to marry his angel in the Church that had been his home for so long was painful. Still, not marrying Belle was the far worse option.

Hugging him close, Belle said, "We can wait, baby. We don't have to get married right away. How long does it usually take?"

Joseph winced. "They're not going to approve it, angel. Years ago they used to give them out to whoever asked, but then they decided it was happening too often. They'll sit on it until I'm seventy before they sign off on it. I don't want to wait that long."

Belle made a soft noise of distress, and he hastened to reassure her. "We can still be married, just not in the Church. It will still be legal. And God will recognize it. We have His blessing, even if the Church doesn't approve."

"Baby, are you _sure_?" she asked, her eyes examining his face closely for any hint of misgiving. "I know how important the church is to you-"

"Not as important as you," he said firmly, his hand straying to her stomach. "You and the baby are what's most important to me. I want the Church to recognize our marriage, but if they don't, it's their loss." Belle was an instrument of God. If the Church couldn't see that, Joseph had nothing but pity for them. God approved, and their parishioners- _Ethan's_ parishioners- seemed to approve as well. He would be satisfied with that.

"As long as it doesn't bother you?" he asked nervously. Joseph was so certain that God's approval was enough that he prayed Belle would see things the same way.

"No, baby, of course not," she said at once, and he heaved a sigh of relief that this wouldn't be a deal breaker. Belle chuckled softly, "I've never been married in a church anyway. Why start now?"

"Really?" he blinked down at her.

"My husband and I were married in his garden. Civil ceremony," she explained, "And I never would have gotten Nick to set foot in a church. If it doesn't bother you, it doesn't bother me."

"What was your wedding like?" Joseph asked. Other than telling him that she'd lost her husband, Belle had spoken little of the man. He didn't even know his name.

"Very small and very beautiful," she smiled fondly in remembrance, "He hired landscapers to transform the whole garden. I don't think I've ever seen so many roses in one place. He was worried that I'd regret not inviting more people, but it was perfect the way it was."

He could almost see it, Belle gowned in white exchanging vows with a man who bore a marked similarity to himself in the midst of a beautiful rose garden. She deserved to be married in a palace or a cathedral, and he couldn't afford to give her anything like that. Between her ring, her Christmas gift, and his train ticket, there was little left in his bank account. "I'm sorry, angel."

"For what?" For once, she didn't seem quite able to read his mind.

"That our wedding won't be like that. You should have something perfect, and I can't..." he trailed off with a sigh. "I'll find work. I'll provide for you; I swear I will. Things might be a little tight at first, but-"

"Baby," Belle said firmly, stopping the flow of words. "As long as I get to be married to you, I don't care about the wedding. I'd love something simple. Anyway, money isn't a problem. My husband left me very well provided for. Enough for several lifetimes to be honest. Don't worry."

Her words made him feel dramatically better. Joseph had enough pride not to be comfortable living off another man's money- he'd find work and soon- but it was a relief to know that Belle would still be able to live comfortably while he was establishing himself.

"We can live anywhere you'd like then," he said hesitantly. Nothing was keeping them in Middlesbrough or even in England. She'd traveled the world, and he'd never even left the United Kingdom. The idea of permanently leaving the town that had been his home for decades made him feel vaguely nauseated, but wherever Belle wanted to go, he would follow. She was his home.

Belle laced her fingers through his. "Where would you like to live?"

"With you," he answered honestly. Nothing else mattered.

Giggling, she leaned up to kiss him. "Seriously."

"I am. All that matters to me is that we're together." Three weeks without her had been as much as he could handle. From this point on, they wouldn't spend a single night apart.

"What would you say about being together in Middlesbrough?" she asked softly, and his heart doubled its pace. By the time he realized she was waiting for him to answer, she'd started talking again, "We don't have to if you don't want to. Just... I've been traveling for so long; I'm ready to put down roots, and with your parishioners- well, they're not _your_ parishioners anymore- but it's like we have a family. It's-"

"Home," he finished for her, and she beamed up at him. They could always travel once the baby got a little older, but the idea of them making a home together in Middlesbrough sounded like Heaven. "I'd say that it sounds perfect, angel."

They didn't get much more talking done that night nor over the next few days. There were far more important things to do like relearning every spot that made Belle gasp and reading to the baby and whispering words of love as they snuggled together, words of love that this time she wasn't afraid to return.

The days passed in a blissful haze of kisses and joy. Joseph still hadn't seen any more of Exeter than his brief ride from the train station to Belle's cottage had shown him, but he'd memorized exactly how the dawn light lit her chestnut curls, and he couldn't think of a more satisfying way to spend his time. Eventually they'd need to go back. They had to find a house, a place for their family to grow, but for now he was perfectly content to just revel in Belle's nearness.

When the phone rang almost a week after their reunion, it felt like an intrusion. They'd been making soup. Rather, Belle had been making soup while he nuzzled at her neck, trying to distract her as she giggled and scolded and made no real effort to get away. "Ignore it," he mumbled against her skin as she tried to extricate herself from his embrace.

"It might be important," she pointed out, dodging his playful grab. He watched as Belle retrieved her phone and frowned at it in puzzlement as she checked the number. A moment later, her face cleared and she smiled as she answered, "Hello?"

After a pause as the caller apparently introduced himself, Belle's smile widened. "It is. It's a pleasure to talk to you, Father. Joseph has told me a lot about you." As soon as he heard her speak, he knew who was on the other end of the line, and a brief flash of guilt pierced him. Ethan had been such a great help that it really should have occurred to him to call the other man and let him know what was happening.

"He's right here," she told Ethan after another pause, "I'll put him on." She held the phone out to him, and he lifted it to his ear.

"How's everything going?" he asked, catching Belle's wrist so he could kiss the back of her hand.

Ethan chuckled. "I was going to ask you the same thing, but I don't think I have to. Are congratulations in order?"

His lips brushed against her ring as he smiled so widely it felt like his face would crack. "She said yes."

"Wonderful! God bless you both!" Ethan enthused, and his obvious pleasure at the news warmed Joseph's heart. "I hate to interrupt, but you received a letter from Rome, and I wanted to know what you wanted me to do with it. I can send it on to you."

The letter had to be the response to his request for a dispensation, and his heart sank. Seeing the refusal in black and white was going to hurt. He sat down at the kitchen table and used his grip on Belle's hand to tug her down onto his lap. Bracing himself for bad news, he wrapped his free arm around her, needing her closeness. "Open it."

"Are you sure?" Ethan pressed, and Joseph nodded, forgetting the other man couldn't see him.

"You know what it's about. Just tell me what it says," he directed, and he could hear fumbling and the sound of ripping paper as Ethan opened the letter. The resulting silence made his skin crawl. "Well?"

Belle stroked his hair as he waited for Ethan's answer. After a moment, the other man said in a stunned voice, "They said yes."

He'd misunderstood something, Joseph was certain of that. "What?"

"Your dispensation. Rome granted it." Ethan's voice rose with excitement as he quickly read the brief letter, confirming what he'd already said: Rome had accepted his petition and released him from his vow of celibacy. The Church would recognize his marriage to Belle.

For the life of him, Joseph couldn't think of anything to say, and Belle was looking at him in concern, her fingers massaging the back of his neck. "What, baby?" she whispered.

"Thank you," he managed at last, tightening his hold on her.

"If you'd like..." for some reason, Ethan suddenly sounded shy, "I'd be honored to perform the ceremony."

Much as he wanted to agree, this wasn't a decision he could make alone. "I'd like that. I have to talk to Belle, but... I'd like that."

They said their goodbyes with a promise from Joseph to call back soon, and he placed the phone on the table, turning his attention back to Belle. "Is everything all right?"

"I got a letter from Rome. About the dispensation," he began, and she made a sympathetic noise. "They granted it."

Belle froze, her eyes going wide, "They granted it?"

"I don't know how or why, but they did. I've been released from my vow." Saying it out loud made it slightly more real, but he could still scarcely believe it.

"I have an idea why," Belle's lips curved in a secret smile. At his bemused look, she glanced upward. "We've got somebody on our side."

Bowing his head, he murmured a quick prayer of thanks, humbled that the Father had chosen to intervene so he and Belle could be properly married. As he lifted his head, he caught Belle winking at the empty air and chuckled at her relaxed relationship with the Lord. "This changes things, doesn't it?" she asked, "We can be married in the church now?"

"Ethan said he'd be honored to marry us," he answered. They could be married at the church, the same place they'd spent so many happy hours as their relationship blossomed.

Her eyes lit up. "When do you want to do it?"

His first instinct was to say tomorrow. Being engaged to Belle was lovely but still not enough for him. He wouldn't be content until he was her husband in the eyes of God, the law, and the Church. Still he didn't want to rush her too much. Belle had said she wanted something simple, but surely she'd want a new dress, and they needed to buy rings, and he should probably find something a bit nicer than his thrift shop clothing to wear to his own wedding.

"Next Sunday?" he suggested, wondering if a week was enough time to accomplish everything. Joseph hoped so; he wasn't sure he could bring himself to wait any longer. "After the service? We can invite everyone to stay for the ceremony."

Belle's smile was incandescent. "Sunday," she repeated, "We'll get married on Sunday."

When he said it, he'd just been thinking aloud, but hearing Belle say the words made it all real. On Sunday they would at last become man and wife. After months of longing, they'd finally be married.

He should call Ethan back and tell him the plan. They should make a list of everything they needed to get done in the intervening time. There were a thousand things they should be doing, but Belle was in his lap and smiling, and they were going to be married in a week, and he _had_ to kiss her.

Everything else could wait.


	20. Chapter 19

Knocking on the door of the rectory the following Saturday felt bizarre. The little house had been home for almost a year, but that was true no longer. Now it had a new inhabitant, and she and Joseph would have to find a place of their own in Middlesbrough. Belle already had a few ideas about that.

The door opened, and a tall ginger-haired man peered out, his freckled face lighting with excitement when he saw her and Joseph. "You must be Belle!" he exclaimed, grasping her hand in an enthusiastic handshake. "I'm so glad to meet you!"

"It's nice to meet you too, Father," she smiled as he escorted both of them into the house, shaking Joseph's hand as he did so.

The rectory itself was largely unchanged, but the feel of the place was completely different. Father Ethan was clearly a bundle of energy, and Belle liked him immediately. She was glad someone so pleasant would be looking after the parishioners who had become her friends and extended family.

Ethan got them settled in the living room with tea and biscuits as they chatted. He seemed to be a well-read young man, and they discussed their respective impressions of_ Paradise Lost_ as Joseph watched them proudly. Belle briefly excused herself to use the bathroom, and when she returned the two men had their heads together, the conversation halting the moment she returned to them, both pairs of eyes smiling at her. A warm glow filled her. Apparently, she'd met with Ethan's approval.

Discussing the wedding ceremony took only a handful of minutes. Joseph had performed so many that he probably could have done it in his sleep, and the Catholic ceremony wasn't markedly different than her own civil ceremony had been, just longer. More kneeling was involved, but Ethan promised to cue her.

"You could just make an announcement after Mass that you'll be marrying us," Joseph suggested. "Give everyone a few minutes to leave if they want before we start."

Ethan flushed. "Actually, I took the liberty of telling everyone already. I don't think anyone will be leaving."

Until that moment, Belle hadn't realized just how worried she was about the parishioners' reactions. While she knew they were fond of her, she was also the woman who'd stolen their priest away, and part of her had been expecting at least some disapproval. If Ethan had warned them, she hoped those who did not approve would give the following day's service a miss. It would hurt too much to see a mass exodus toward the rear of the church before their wedding.

Curling up in Joseph's arms that night felt strange as well since Ethan was just down the hall. The priest hadn't said a word about the two of them sharing a room, no doubt well aware that they'd been doing that and more before he came on the scene. This world held that it was bad luck for the bride and groom to see each other before the wedding, but she and Joseph had already been through the fire and come out stronger. No silly superstition was going to keep her from spending a single night in his arms.

"I'm glad we came back today," Joseph mused as he toyed with her hair.

Since Mass started at ten, they hadn't had much of a choice unless they'd wanted to start the five hour drive from Exeter before dawn, but Belle had a feeling that wasn't what he was talking about.

"Why's that, baby?" He kissed the top of her head and pulled her a little closer when she called him that.

"Sleeping without you was hard," he admitted, and she snuggled closer, letting herself feel the guilt and then let it go. Joseph had forgiven her, but it would take time for her to forgive herself. "I'm glad we have one more night in this room. Together."

Belle couldn't think of anywhere else she'd rather be. The room itself was almost bare. The vast majority of Joseph's possessions were already at her cottage, and the ones that hadn't fit like her teapot, the Christmas decorations, and her wings were in the boot of the Peugeot for their return trip to Exeter where they'd be honeymooning. Joseph had expressed dismay that he couldn't afford to take her somewhere exotic, but as long as Belle had a bed and her new husband, she was perfectly content. She'd traveled enough for one lifetime.

"I pretended I was back here," she confessed, her mind glancing over the painful memories of the weeks they'd spent apart. "When I couldn't sleep, I pretended I was in this bed, and you'd be coming in any minute to put your arms around me."

He made a soft sound of sympathy and curled himself more tightly around her as Belle reveled in his protective embrace. For weeks all she'd wanted was to be back in Joseph's arms, and now she was, and they'd never be separated again.

"Grateful as I am for Ethan, I have to admit I'd rather he wasn't here," Joseph murmured in her ear, pressing a tender kiss to her throat, and Belle giggled.

"I know, baby. But this is perfect just like it is." Tomorrow they'd be husband and wife and have all the privacy they could want. Tonight it was enough simply to be together.

To her surprise, Belle slept well that night. She'd told herself that nerves were normal, but the thought that in a matter of hours she'd be marrying Joseph made her heart beat faster only because of excitement. This was the right decision. There was nothing to be nervous about.

She'd rejected the idea of a white dress out of hand. As a widow, it seemed inappropriate, even leaving off the fact that she was currently two months pregnant. Instead she'd chosen a calf-length blue dress of soft wool with long sleeves and a square neckline. Nothing about it said 'wedding dress' but something about it was perfect anyway.

She was just reaching back to unfasten the necklace that held the rings from Rumpelstiltskin and Nick when Joseph's hand covered hers on the clasp. "Leave it on."

"Are you sure?" she asked, turning to face him.

Joseph straightened the chain with a tender smile. "They'll always be part of your life, angel. They should be at our wedding."

"I love you," she gasped, trying not to cry as she threw her arms around his neck in a fierce hug, and he immediately pulled her closer.

"I love you too, angel," he assured her, before gently releasing her. "Now help me with this horrible thing, will you?"

Joseph was wearing black pants and a blue shirt a few shades darker than her dress. He was attempting to pair the shirt with a silver silk tie and having no luck in tying it. The years he'd spent wearing the clerical collar had put him seriously out of practice, and Belle reached up to tie it herself.

He gave her a shy smile once she finished, blushing as she let her gaze trail appreciatively over him. While she'd always considered Joseph a handsome man, in blue he took her breath away. "You look wonderful, baby."

"You get more beautiful ever day," he told her sweetly, and she melted into his arms. "I'm a very lucky man, angel."

"I think I'm the lucky one," she whispered against his shoulder. The last thing in the world Belle had expected when she arrived in Middlesbrough was to find love again. To find a man as gentle and loving as Joseph was so outside the realm of possibility that she wondered if Nick or Joseph's god hadn't been guiding her steps. Whatever power had brought them together, she thanked it.

They held each other for long minutes until a glance at the clock told her that they needed to get moving. It wouldn't be right to be late for their own wedding.

When they reached the church, Belle was surprised by how many people were already there twenty minutes before the service was supposed to start. All eyes turned to her and Joseph as they entered, and Belle felt weak with relief when every familiar face immediately lit with a smile.

"Belle!" Mrs. Kelsey called her name, stepping forward with arms outstretched for a brief hug. "We're so pleased to have you back."

Once Mrs. Kelsey greeted her, Belle immediately found herself surrounded by well-wishers. Her fear that the parishioners would resent her for taking Joseph away from them or for leaving without a goodbye was clearly unfounded, because she saw no hint of condemnation in anyone's face. Instead, everyone seemed pleased to see her, and the words of congratulations were unfeigned.

The moment there was a break in the action, Joseph's hand slipped into hers, and she looked up to see his expression of happy surprise as he accepted handshake after handshake. "Congratulations, Father!" Irene Duncan chirped, then her brow furrowed, "Sorry! I mean Mr. MacAvoy... oh, that sounds so strange!"

Joseph chuckled, as did a number of other people in the crowd. "It feels strange," he admitted. "You're welcome to call me Joseph."

Despite his encouragement, most of the parishioners continued to call him father before correcting themselves with a shake of their head. Only one person got it right on the first try. "Congratulations, Joseph," Ben said quietly, and a look passed between the two men that Belle couldn't identify.

"Thank you, Ben," Joseph murmured, before Ben turned his attention to her, leaning down to kiss her cheek.

"I wish you every happiness," he told her with apparent sincerity, and Belle hoped her smile conveyed how much his words meant to her because her voice didn't want to cooperate. Ben was a good man, and she hoped he'd soon find someone of his own.

They took their seats near the front of the church, and Belle was surprised by how full the pews were. As far as she could tell, not a single regular was missing, and the show of support brought tears to her eyes. When Ethan had told her he'd already made the announcement, she'd expected a half-empty church, but only Christmas Eve had been more full.

To her untrained eye, Ethan did a wonderful job with the service, although she spent more time watching Joseph. He mouthed the words at certain points, but there was a serenity in his eyes that brought her relief. He seemed perfectly content to be on this side of the church, and she hugged his arm, smiling as he brushed a kiss against the crown of her head.

Soon enough, the service was over, and Father Ethan held up his hands. "It is my privilege to ask each of you to join us in celebration as we join Joseph MacAvoy and Belle Gold in marriage."

A ripple of applause broke out, the sound growing louder as she and Joseph rose, joining Father Ethan in front of the altar, and Belle felt as though her feet barely touched the ground.

He instructed them to clasp hands, and Belle couldn't look away from Joseph's eyes as Father Ethan spoke about the joys and responsibilities of marriage. He'd never looked happier, his brown eyes glowing with peace and happiness, and Belle was so enraptured by that look that only his grip on her hands ensured she knelt at the right moments as Ethan prayed over them and blessed them.

Dimly she was aware of Ethan speaking and the congregation answering, but her attention was focused solely on Joseph. How had she ever thought she could live without this amazing man in her life? Leaving him had been the greatest mistake she'd ever made, and Belle offered thanks to whatever higher power was listening that he'd had the courage she'd lacked.

Father Ethan retrieved the rings they'd bought earlier in the week from his own pocket, closing them in his Bible as he blessed them, and Belle barely managed to find her voice in time to repeat her vows, "I, Belle, take you, Joseph, to be my husband..." They'd repeated their vows to each other in the privacy of their bedroom, but saying them publicly in front of every friend they had felt a thousand times more intense. This was real. This was forever.

Joseph's voice was strong and confident when it was his turn. "I, Joseph, take you, Belle, to be my wife..." Tears filled her eyes at the sheer beauty of the moment as they promised themselves to each other.

"With this ring, I thee wed," she vowed, taking the ring from Ethan and sliding it onto Joseph's third finger, the symbol of their union.

"With this ring, I thee wed." Joseph's hand was warm as he slid the ring home, and Belle gasped softly as it came to rest, feeling herself completely surrounded by his love and protection.

The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur. They lit candles and took communion, through it all scarcely taking their eyes off of each other. It wasn't until the very end when Father Ethan informed Joseph that he could kiss his bride that Belle snapped back into reality.

Joseph's mouth came down on hers in a tender kiss, his arms going around her waist as her hands found his hair, their lips clinging in their first kiss as man and wife. Only the thought that hundreds of eyes were on them was enough to force them to break apart, and they beamed at each other, still holding on as Ethan's voice rang out, "I present to you Mr. and Mrs. Joseph MacAvoy!"

At her first wedding, this announcement had met with a smattering of polite applause so Belle was woefully unprepared for the noisy outburst of cheering that started practically before the words were out of Ethan's mouth. Joseph hugged her close as they turned to look at their audience, every face alight with a smile of joy.

She didn't realized she was crying until Joseph gently brushed the tears away, his other hand warm and firm against her lower back. Leaning down, he brushed his lips against hers again, then whispered in her ear, "I love you, my wife."

"I love you, my husband," she said in return, and his brilliant smile could have lit the entire town Married. She and Joseph were _married_.

Belle couldn't stop looking at the gold band on her finger as they accepted hugs and congratulations from the congregation until Father Ethan herded everyone downstairs to the fellowship hall.

What they were going to to do after the wedding wasn't something Belle had given any thought to, but the rest of the parishioners apparently had. The hall was decorated with evergreens and white fairy lights, and it looked like everyone had contributed a dish to the reception. There was even a wedding cake- clearly homemade and slightly lopsided, and it was the all the more beautiful for that. Another, smaller table was covered in neatly wrapped gifts. Beside her, Joseph seemed speechless as he squeezed her hand, trading an awestruck look with her.

This wasn't simple acceptance; this was _welcome_. She and Joseph were being welcomed into the fold as fellow parishioners, and to all appearances, the congregation was happy to have them. Belle even recognized a few of the dishes covering the table as ones she'd complimented as her particular favorites, and she was willing to bet that many more of them were things the parishioners had noticed that Joseph especially liked.

In Storybrooke and on Destiny, there had been little choice involved in who associated with whom. Both had been closed communities, and Belle had learned quickly to get along with or at least tolerate everyone else in the interest of her own sanity. Middlesbrough was different. She'd traveled the world in a quest for a home and found one, although she felt less like she'd chosen them than they had chosen her. There was no reason for them to accept her into their lives, and they had anyway, making her part of their family.

"My grandson took pictures of the service; I'll email them to you," Mrs. Kelsey promised briskly as she got both of them seated in a place of honor. "The two of you are planning to move home, aren't you?"

"As soon as we can find a house," Joseph promised, and from the calculating look on the older woman's face, Belle was certain they'd be in touch with a real estate agent in a matter of days.

"If you'd given us more warning, we would have thrown you a shower," she scolded, then leaned closer to Belle. "Ah well, we'll be having a different kind of shower in a few months, won't we? I've already started knitting a blanket for the baby."

Next to her, Joseph choked on his punch, and Belle struggled to keep her expression from betraying her. Mrs. Kelsey chuckled, "Oh, don't look like that. When I was a girl our priest had a live-in housekeeper. They had some of the cutest children I've ever seen. We all pretended not to know, of course. Your way is probably better though. It's a different world now."

She patted both of them on the shoulder and fluttered away to organize the rest of the crowd, leaving Belle and Joseph staring at each other. "Does everyone know?" she asked tentatively.

"If _she_ does?" he pointed out, and Belle had to laugh. If the baby was still a secret, it wouldn't be for long. "No one seems to mind."

They'd been given everything they needed to set up housekeeping from towels to dishes to bed linens, but the best gift of all was the approving smile on every face. Instead of censure, Belle saw understanding, and for the first time since Nick's Ascension, she felt like she was truly home.

The parishioners had been so generous that they had to leave a number of the gifts at the rectory because there were simply too many to fit in her little Peugeot. They'd piled them in Joseph's old bedroom, and Father Ethan insisted that he didn't mind. "It will give you an excuse to come back and visit."

He staunchly refused to let either of them return their keys to the rectory or to take back Joseph's key to the church. "What harm will it do you to keep them? Come and go as you please."

Joseph's hand tightened on his key ring, and Belle saw the way his shoulders relaxed when Ethan insisted he keep his church key. She believed him when he said he wasn't sorry he'd resigned from the priesthood, but knowing that Ethan was helping him maintain his ties to the church was tremendously reassuring. Joseph found such comfort in prayer, and she knew he occasionally preferred to do it privately in front of the altar. This way, he'd still be able to do just that when he needed to.

Leaning up, she kissed Ethan's cheek in thanks, and the gawky man blushed brightly, shooing them on their way. "Go on now. You don't want to spend your honeymoon with your priest."

"We'll call," Joseph promised, shaking his hand, "And we'll come back soon to visit."

The priesthood was a lonely path, Belle had learned that quickly enough. They'd keep in close contact with Father Ethan and make certain that he felt as welcome in their home as they did at the rectory. She would hate to see anything dim his optimism.

They sat in the car for a moment waving goodbye to Ethan, and Belle put her hand on Joseph's leg. "I think I sat here for twenty minutes on Christmas night. I kept hoping you'd wake up and stop me before I could leave."

Joseph shot her a dry look, "Well, if you'd _told me _what you were planning..."

She laughed at his expression, relieved that she could do so. This wound was already healing, and their relationship was stronger for it. "Next time I'll tell you before I go anywhere," she promised. He'd confessed how worried he'd been the very first morning when she went grocery shopping without telling him, and Belle resolved to be meticulous about leaving him notes from this point on.

"Next time you'll take me with you," he corrected, leaning down to brush his lips against hers, murmuring against her mouth, "Otherwise, I'll be forced to tie you to the bed."

The hungry little noise she made was shockingly loud in the quiet car, and she swayed a little closer, begging for another kiss that Joseph seemed happy to oblige her with. "Home," she whispered, "Home now please."

"You just had to pick Exeter," he complained, putting the car in gear. "You couldn't have settled somewhere closer."

Belle ticked off Exeter's advantages on her fingers, "True, but no one we know lives close enough to just drop by. I don't know about you, but I'm in the mood for some privacy. I don't really want to share my husband while we're on our honeymoon."

He inhaled sharply at the word 'husband', and Belle felt his muscles tense beneath her hand. "I've waited so long to hear you call me that, angel."

"My Joseph," she murmured, "My husband. My love."

Blindly reaching for her hand, he lifted it to his mouth for a kiss before settling it firmly back in her own lap. "Unless you want to consummate our marriage by the side of the road, you should probably stop."

She giggled and turned on the radio, contenting herself with his nearness and admiring the gold band on his finger, glancing back and forth between her ring and his. They were married now, together forever, and a sensation of warmth and approval wrapped itself around her, leaving her with the impression that she'd just been hugged.

The drive back to her cottage didn't drag as much as she'd been afraid that it would, and unloading the car was a haphazard affair, their mouths colliding every few moments in a seriously distracting way. They abandoned a few boxes on the porch so Joseph could carry her over the threshold, and it was touch and go that he wouldn't simply carry her straight up the stairs to the bedroom. Only the certainty that they wouldn't want to bother with it later prompted them to get the rest of their things out of the car, Belle smiling sentimentally at the sight of the angel wings she'd worn on Halloween. Joseph had been very insistent that they make room for those.

Once they had everything piled on the dining room table, Belle was ready to call the task done. Later she'd have to go through and jot down who'd given what so they could write thank you notes, but for now the only thing she wanted was her husband.

Yawning theatrically, Belle stretched her arms above her head. "It's been a long day. I don't know about you, but I'm ready for bed."

The sun hadn't fully set yet, but Joseph nodded eagerly. "I couldn't agree more, angel."

Hand in hand they ascended the staircase, stumbling a few times when they couldn't take their eyes off of each other long enough to look where they were going. Belle found herself smiling foolishly, unable to stop, and Joseph looked equally happy and dazed. They were _married_. No matter how many times she had the thought, it hadn't quite sunk in yet.

Instead of pulling her into his arms when they reached the bedroom, Joseph coaxed her to sit on the edge of the bed, moving to kneel in front of her. Taking her hands in his, he bowed his head over them. "Thank You, Father, for answering my prayer. Thank You for sending me Belle. Thank You for letting me make her my wife. Thank You for blessing us with a child. Please watch over our family and let us live together in peace and love as we serve You. Amen."

He kissed her hands, and there were tears in his eyes when he looked up, but Belle had never seen Joseph looked so happy. "I love you so much, my angel. My wife."

"My husband," she whispered, cradling his face in her hands so she could kiss him, and his hand strayed to her abdomen, resting gently over the place where their child grew, including it in the charmed circle. She took one hand from his jaw and placed it over his. "We're a family."

"You're the answer to every prayer I've ever said," he told her, "You and our baby. Angel, I could never ask for more."

"I never thought I would love again," she admitted, and he nodded, his eyes serious, "And then I met you. I don't think I knew how lost I was until you found me. You saved me, baby. I love you so very much."

Using her hold on him, Belle tugged Joseph onto the bed with her, rolling into his arms as he wrapped himself around her, the pair of them snuggled together in warmth and safety. Gradually, soft caresses grew firmer, and she found her hands busily undoing his tie as he went to work on her dress's zipper.

They'd made love hundreds of times, but this was different. Never before had they made love as husband and wife, and that made every touch new. This was the first time she'd ever unbuttoned her husband's shirt. This was the first time he'd ever run his fingers down his wife's spine.

They were both a little clumsy, overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of how their relationship had changed. They weren't just making love; they were consummating their marriage, making it into something real and solid and irrevocable.

Joseph trembled as his hands caressed every inch of her, and Belle's stomach fluttered with something that felt almost like nervousness. She knew how to please Joseph, knew exactly where to kiss and touch, but in that moment she felt like she'd never laid her hands on a man before.

He rubbed his nose against hers, beaming at her, his eyes a little dazed. "My wife. My beautiful, perfect wife. My angel. I can't believe you're mine."

"I'm all yours. Forever," she promised, her voice breaking. This was _forever_; no curse would tear them apart. "I love you, my husband."

He sighed at her words, and some of her confidence returned, her fingers searching out the places she knew made him moan. Belle took her time, laving his nipples with her tongue until he was breathing raggedly before backing off with less direct caresses, not wanting this to end.

Joseph whimpered when she urged him to lie on his stomach, and she blanketed him with her body, her mouth exploring the smooth skin of his back. Her fingers found a few small scars she'd never noticed before, and she licked each one thoroughly. "Baby, what are these from?"

The marks were nowhere near as bad as her own scars, but the thought of Joseph experiencing pain hurt her. She rubbed her cheek against his back as he said quietly, "Penance."

"What?" she breathed, moving to sit beside him, and he rolled over to look up at her, a bit abashed.

"I tried to quit drinking for years," he admitted. "I never could have done it without you."

It wasn't hard to picture the Joseph she'd first met- that lost and broken man- inflicting pain on himself for what he perceived as his failure, and Belle's eyes filled with tears that he'd valued himself so little. "No more of that, okay?" she whispered, "No one hurts my husband."

He nodded readily, his eyes clear and bright. "Deal."

Belle claimed his mouth in a tender kiss, wordlessly promising him her support. From now on any struggles they faced would be faced together. She'd make sure he treated himself kindly, and he'd keep her from making one of her famously destructive impulsive decisions. They'd be good for each other. They _were_ good for each other.

It was Joseph's turn to explore, and he did so eagerly, bathing her with his tongue as he nuzzled at every place that made her sigh with pleasure. He lingered over her abdomen, kissing every inch of her belly with tender absorption before he rested his chin on her hip to smile up at her. "I can't wait," he confessed, looking boyishly excited about the prospect of impending fatherhood.

"We're going to be the best parents ever" she vowed. Joseph would be the most wonderful father the world had ever known, and if she had anything to say about it, their child would lead an idyllic life. They'd both suffered enough. As far as Belle was concerned, they were due some happiness, and she could hardly wait to welcome the child they'd wanted for so long.

"You're such a lucky baby," Joseph murmured to her belly, "You have the most wonderful mummy in the whole world."

"I think his daddy is pretty amazing too," she smiled through her tears, pulling him up for another kiss.

Joseph was careful not to let too much of his weight rest on her as he eased himself in, and Belle arched beneath him, keeping herself as close as she could as he started to move slowly, just rocking against her. This wasn't lovemaking. It was something even deeper and more meaningful than that. This was the consummation of everything they were to each other, their vows made flesh. Every gentle thrust promised love and support and forever, and their every gasp echoed their 'I do's'. They weren't Joseph MacAvoy and Belle Gold any longer. Now they were Joseph-and-Belle, a pair. A family.

Belle couldn't look away from the brown eyes that seemed to see her very soul. There was so much love there that it made her tremble, the emotion so intense she felt it as a palpable caress. "My husband," she breathed, unable to think of anything else to say. No other words were necessary.

"My wife," he moaned in reply, and she could feel Joseph's pleasure like it was her own, the way he nipped at his bottom lip telling her that he was as overwhelmed as she was.

They found their satisfaction in the same moment, their cries mingling in the quiet room as Belle felt their souls meet and meld, everything that was Joseph wrapping around her and holding her close, the force of his love for her soothing away every lingering bit of pain and guilt. None of that mattered anymore. They were together now. They would be together forever.

"I love you," she sobbed, finding his mouth in an awkward kiss. She tasted salt; Joseph was holding her too tightly to get a good angle, and they had to keep breaking apart to breathe, but it was still the best kiss of her life, because she was kissing her husband, the man with whom she would spend the rest of her life.

"I love you, angel," he answered, and he was crying too, but Belle knew tears of joy when she saw them. They would never be separated again. Neither of them would ever be alone again.

Joseph rolled onto his side, and she draped her leg over his hip, keeping them joined. This connection was too powerful to let go of so soon. He hugged her closer yet, keeping her so tight against him that nothing could come between them. Nothing ever would again.

Blissfully content, Belle nuzzled Joseph's neck, feeling him caressing her back in long, soothing strokes as her trembling slowly eased. She felt like she was floating on a cloud of peace and joy. There was nothing to worry about here, nothing to run from.

She was home.


	21. Epilogue

Joseph unlocked the door of the two-story house on the edge of Middlesbrough, his eyes finding a tangle of boxes and furniture as soon as he stepped inside, and he shook his head with a sigh. He'd never lived anywhere that hadn't been furnished when he moved in, and he hadn't realized just how big of a job setting up house would be.

Tomorrow was Saturday, and a contingent from the church would be dropping by to help get them organized. Anne Kelsey was leading the charge, and he and Belle had agreed to let the older woman do exactly as she pleased. In her capable hands they were certain to be completely moved in and unpacked in a matter of hours.

Two rooms were already set up- their bedroom and the nursery- and Joseph had a fair idea of where he would find his wife of four months. Taking the stairs two at a time, he paused in the doorway of the nursery and let himself simply drink in the sight of Belle sitting in a rocking chair in front of an open window, the bright sunlight of late spring highlighting her chestnut curls in a halo of golden light. She was holding the fairy tale book in one hand, reading to their baby in a quiet voice, her other hand resting tenderly on the swell of her belly.

"Welcome home," she looked up from the book and put it aside, her blue eyes shining with so much love that it took his breath away.

He moved to her side with no hesitation, leaning down for a sweet kiss of welcome before settling himself on the low footstool in front of her so he could kiss the baby too. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm _fine_," she assured him, but she didn't protest when he lifted her feet into his lap to rub them. His angel tired more easily now that she was reaching the end of her sixth month, and her feet often hurt from the added weight of the baby. Although nothing in the world was more beautiful than the sight of Belle swollen with his child, Joseph still felt guilty that she was sometimes uncomfortable.

This was something he could do for her, and he did it gladly, eager for any chance to touch his wife and offer her pleasure or comfort. Belle was the greatest blessing of his life, the truest miracle he'd ever known, and he could never express his gratitude enough.

"How was work?" she asked, settling back in the rocking chair with a blissful sigh.

"It went well. I think Jack may have made a breakthrough." He'd been working three days a week at the drug and alcohol rehabilitation center for the past several months, and Joseph finally felt like he was finding his place. His own long struggle with alcoholism was serving him well, giving him common ground with those who he sought to help. Progress was often slow and frustrating, but the rewards were more than worth it. He was doing good work, and it did his soul good to know that even those lost years of drunkenness had all been part of God's plan for his life.

"That's wonderful, baby," she sighed, and he wasn't sure if she was talking about Jack or what he was doing to her feet. "I know you've been worried about him."

The man had two young children, and Joseph had bonded with him over his own excitement at impending fatherhood. Remembering his children's earliest days had given Jack a new strength and focus, and Joseph hoped that would carry him through the detoxification process.

He gazed up at her, all other thoughts fluttering away as his angel smiled down at him, her eyes shining with love and happiness. It was a look he'd once feared he'd never see on her face. Belle had been so unhappy when he met her- frightened and hurting- and he'd despaired of ever being able to help her. Joseph had never been happier in his life than he was at this moment, but it was even better to see that Belle was happy. The shadows had fled her eyes, leaving nothing but peace and contentment in their wake.

In a few short months they would be parents, and this house would ring with the sound of laughter. They would fill it with love and children, and all darkness would be banished from this place. Everything he'd ever longed for was his at last. He had a family- a wife to worship and a child to adore- and this was just the _beginning_. His life, which had once looked so bleak and meaningless, stretched out before him rich with promise. No fairy tale could be more magical.

A faint shimmer in the air behind Belle's shoulder distracted him from her beautiful smile, and Belle turned to look too as the shimmer grew larger and brighter. Instinctively, he got to his feet and drew Belle to hers, seeking to protect her from the strange apparition before the shimmer coalesced into a recognizably human figure: a man with long hair and a beard.

Joseph clutched Belle closer with one hand as he crossed himself with the other. The figure glowed even in the bright sunlight, and it was transparent enough to allow him to see the bookcase he and Belle had filled for the baby through it. They were being visited by an angel.

"Nick?" Belle breathed, and the glowing figure beamed, extending its hands for a moment before looking down at them wryly and folding its arms with a shrug. In his embrace Belle chuckled softly, and Joseph's mind raced. This wasn't an angel, but it was an otherworldly vision all the same. This was Nick- Belle's Nick.

"Um... hello," he attempted, and the figure turned its attention to him. "I'm Joseph."

The figure- Nick- gave him a look that communicated the sentiment "No shit" without actually saying anything. "He knows," Belle said softly, and Nick smiled at her, "He's been looking out for us."

The figure nodded with approval at her deduction, and Joseph blinked, not entirely sure how he felt about having Belle's incorporeal former love taking an interest in them. Then Nick turned his attention back to him, looking him critically up and down before nodding firmly, and he felt like he'd been given a stamp of approval.

"Thank you, Nick. For everything." The figure's eyes softened, and it got a little closer without appearing to move at all. "I love you."

The figure hovered over Belle for a moment, appearing to kiss the top of her head without actually making contact before looking again to him. Joseph felt a wave of warmth and approval wash over him, and by the time he finished blinking, Nick was gone.

"Wow," he breathed, unable to think of anything more intelligent to say. He stole a look at Belle, concerned that this appearance by her lost love might have upset her, but although tears sparkled in her eyes, her face was peaceful.

"I think we have his blessing," she said, looking up at him with a soft smile.

"You're happy, aren't you, angel?" he asked. Five minutes ago he'd been certain that she was, but the strange encounter had left him feeling a bit unsettled, and he suddenly found himself in need of reassurance.

"Completely," she vowed, and he could hear the truth of it in her voice. Belle took his hand, guiding it to rest on the swell of her belly, and his breath caught as the baby kicked beneath his palm. No matter how many times it happened, Joseph could never accustom himself to the miraculous feeling of their child moving inside of her. Compared to that, the vision of her lost love seemed positively commonplace.

"I wouldn't trade our life for anything," she promised him, and he exhaled shakily, claiming her lips in a tender kiss. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him as close as she could with the baby between them, and he slid one arm around her waist, keeping his other hand on her stomach, his wife and child held safe in his embrace.

No matter how many times he thanked God for the wonderful life he'd been granted, it would never be enough. After having her heart shattered not once but twice, his angel still had the courage to love again, and she'd chosen _him_ out of every man in the world. She'd saved his life, renewed his faith, and given him a family, single-handedly answering his every prayer.

"I love you," he murmured against her lips.

"I love you too, baby," she whispered, and they broke apart with a laugh when the baby kicked against his hand, apparently attempting to share the moment.

"Yes, we love you too, little one," he assured it, claiming one last kiss from his wife's smiling mouth. For years he'd been lost in the wilderness, but he'd found home at last.

Joseph MacAvoy was truly blessed.


End file.
